


Double Duty

by dljensengirl88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Discipline, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-31 11:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3975868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dljensengirl88/pseuds/dljensengirl88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With talk of college in the air, the Winchesters all need a timeout. Finding respite at Bobby's place, John decides to be alone for a while. The boys take the opportunity to go blow off steam, but end up in double trouble. THIS IS A COMPLETED MULTICHAPTER STORY.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For a little background: It's February, Dean just turned 22 and Sam is 17, turning 18 in a few months.

They needed a break from themselves. Tensions were running high among the Winchester men after Sam announced that he was planning to go to college. If they had to share the close quarters of one more hotel room right now, one of them was bound to explode all over one or both of the others. Sam and Dean were most concerned about John more than the other way around, but that was not to say they weren't nursing hurt emotions of their own. Dean was working overtime to keep his feelings of abandonment in check so he could give his nerdy little brother much-needed support. Sam worked to keep the self-pity at bay, continuously wondering why his quest for the normal things in life always seemed to bring his family to the brink of madness. Being the men they were, no one was fully sharing their inner thoughts with the other and John was sick of the whole thing.

"Pack your bags, boys. We're going to Sioux Falls."

"Why?" Sam asked in a clipped voice. Lately he stayed prepared to fight with his father over every little and big thing. Lately all they did was fight over nothing.

"Is there a hunt there, Dad? Can't Bobby take care of it?" Dean asked.

"Bobby's is where we're going. We need…" John continued stuffing his duffle and twisted his lips as he thought. "…a time out."

"What? Time out from what?" Sam challenged, stepping closer to John to force him to look at him.

"This, Sam. The bickering, all the college talk –"

"You say that like it's something seedy. Kids go to college all the time, Dad. It's the _normal_ thing to do after high school?" Sam finished sarcastically.

"Yeah, I got that, Sam. I heard you and I'm calling a timeout on this right now."

"You can't call time out on my life, Dad! It's not going to sit by and wait –"

"No one is sitting by, Sam! I just need a moment -"

"Stop it!" Dean interjected before the words turned to something more. "Just, stop it, will ya?" Dean sighed as scratched the rim of his ear roughly, trying to figure out how he should feel about this sudden need to go to Bobby's. "Dad, I thought there was a hunt here you needed us to investigate?"

"I'll call Caleb and have him check the network. I'm sure there is someone close by who can handle this. We haven't even started yet, so it's not like it's unfinished business."

Dean nodded uncertainly, watching Sammy clearly simmering as he paced the hotel floor like a caged panther. John stopped packing and turned to look at Dean, casting a glance at Sam before he continued speaking. "This family needs a minute to get itself together."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam shouted.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, looking pointedly at Sam to give him one of his I've-got-this-and-I've-got-you-so-shut-the-fuck-up glares.

"As I was saying," John continued. "This college thing –"

Sam huffed loudly, rolling his eyes. John and Dean both stiffened, but chose to ignore him so John could get out his intentions.

"-is just too big to ignore right now. We need…, ok, _I_ need a minute here, boys. And I think you could use one too. Before we get back to work, before Sammy goes back to school, we need to make sure our heads are in the game and Bobby's place will let us safely relax for a little while."

John looked at Dean for understanding. Dean gave him a small, tentative nod, then he looked over at Sam, who still stood there fuming, his crossed arms holding in his stubbornness while he tried to wait for the right amount of time to pass to honor Dean's unspoken demand that he hold his tongue for a moment.

Dean rubbed his neck as he walked back over to the bed he was currently sharing with his brother because the motel had only one room available the night they had checked in. The hotel manager had promised them that a room would open up in two nights, if they could hold out that long. It was going to be tight, nothing they hadn't dealt with before, but that was before Sam dropped the college bomb and took all the air out of the room.

Sam watched Dean, a look of incredulity dawning on Sam's face. Dean was seriously thinking about it! Instead of just dealing with this, instead of just helping Sam convince their dad that he was being unreasonable, selfish and yeah, even short-sighted – the access to a university library alone, let alone all the professors with their varying specialties, should have made this a good idea. Yet there he was over there, once again, thinking about doing what Dad wanted; falling into line like the good soldier he always was.

Dean stood on his side of the bed, facing the room, and shook his head warningly at his brother. They were not going to fight this, he emoted. Sam's shoulders slumped in defeat. He was prepared to fight this fight with his Dad, but he was not up to fighting Dean too. Not yet. Not unless he had to. College was still just a dream right now anyway. He was only announcing his _intentions_ to go. He wasn't sure yet, with his spotty school attendance record and frequent transfers, if anyone would even want him. He just wanted to prepare his family for the possibility that it could happen.

"You're on winter break this week anyway, Sammy," Dean reasoned.

"Fine," Sam gritted out. "I'll go, but this isn't done."

"No one said it was, Sammy." Sam glared at Dean, who only stared back with a silent plea for a temporary truce.

Sam huffed again and stormed over to his side of the bed, snatching his duffle from the foot of it and angrily stuffing in the few possessions that were within arm's reach.

John nodded and went back to packing up his bag, before starting to assess what else was around the room that needed to be collected. "It's only a night's drive," he said to no one in particular. "I'm sure we can keep from killing each other that long."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Dean said under his breath. The tension would probably kill them all before they even left the state.

(********)

Normally, Dean would have loved a quiet car ride in the country at night. It was a chance to momentarily forget what typically haunted the darkness and just be with his dad and brother, feeling something resembling normalcy, like they were just on a road trip like any other family. But the drive to Bobby's was anything but relaxing. With John in the driver's seat stewing and Sam in the back seat noticeably fuming, Dean had been left literally in the middle - again - trying to keep the pin in the grenade. He had dared not speak for fear of launching yet another attack between the warring Winchesters, so he folded his arms and watched the looming trees swish by his passenger window. From time to time he would spare a glance at his father to make sure he wasn't about to blow again, then steal a glance in the rearview mirror, trying to catch Sam's body language since he could not see his face without turning around. It may have been childish, but Sam had wanted to be as far away from John as he could get, so when he had reluctantly gotten into the car, he had made sure to get in on Dean's side, stacking their bags on the seat behind John as a pointless barrier, then pressing himself tightly against the door, sulking as he refused to speak or look anywhere but out the window.

It wouldn't be that long of a drive. They had been in Minnesota near the Superior National Forest when all hell had broken loose, so they were only a state away. But the forest was still a good seven hours from Bobby's place. They were going to have to settle in for a slight haul. Thankfully, the sun had been setting when they left, so Dean figured Sam would spend a good amount of that time sleeping. By the sound of his breathing now and the fact that his leg had been in the same position the last three times he looked back, he was pretty sure he was correct.

John seemed to be wide awake, his face not as perturbed as it had been when they left. Dean sat up, clearing his throat as a distraction as he purposely turned now to see his little brother's face. Sure enough, Sam's head was resting on the door, his eyes closed and mouth slightly open as he breathed, his face finally smoothed out from all the fury it had been possessing earlier. He was hugging himself as if to self-comfort and Dean wished he had a way to make everything all better for everyone.

"He still looks like an angel, doesn't he?" John asked in a low tone. "Even at 17."

Dean chuckled as he turned back around, watching the dark road before them.

"It was always one of my favorite things to do," John continued, looking over at Dean a moment. He gave him a small smile before he turned his eyes back to the road. "Watching you boys sleep. Even after…" John sighed. "After everything changed, it was the only time either of you looked truly at peace."

"Not really, Dad," Dean corrected him.

"What?"

Dean sat up straighter this time, looking shyly over at his dad before looking again out the passenger window, his own sorrowful eyes mirroring back at him. "Sleep was hardly ever peaceful. Not for me, anyway. For a long time, in the beginning, I would dream about Mom and I would wake up in the middle of night thinking I was home again and she was going to hear me and come check on me. Somehow she always heard me. It would be dark when I woke up, so it always took a minute for me to realize we weren't home. I wasn't in my bed. She wasn't coming."

"You never told me that," John said quietly.

"I didn't tell anyone anything for a long time, remember?"

John nodded. "No, no you didn't."

The two fell back into silence. Dean chewed his lip, concentrating on willing himself to sleep to escape the unease in the car.

"I still want that, you know," John interrupted suddenly.

"Want what?" Dean asked.

"Peace. For both of you. I want you both to be able to sleep without worry. I want you both to be safe. I have to make sure you're both safe."

"By holding us prisoner?"

John's brows furrowed as he looked over at his older son. "I'm not holding you prisoner, Dean."

Dean looked down at his hands, the fingers of one hand squeezed the others then switched. "Not me, so much, I guess. But Sam, Dad. You know Sam has always wanted…" Dean stopped himself as he looked over his father who was gripping the steering wheel a little tighter now. His face beginning to turn back into steel.

"It doesn't matter," Dean finished. "We know you want to keep us safe, Dad. We do."

John's wall crumbled just a little at that. "You know I'll always come for you, don't you, Dean?"

Dean glanced quickly at his dad, shifting slightly to his side as he folded his arms and leaned against the window. He then quickly sat back up, reaching back to make sure his sleeping brother's door was securely locked, then he tucked himself back into position in the front seat. "Wake me up when you want me to take over, Dad," he threw over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for a response, nor watch for John's reaction. He closed his eyes and imagined John and Sam apologizing to each other, John supporting Sam's wishes and Sam being considerate of his father's fears for him. It was a favorite visual of his to which he could never properly dream up a perfect ending before it melted into the insistent sleep that would eventually creep in.

(********)

After one pit stop so John could get a giant coffee and take a leak while his boys continued to sleep off their petulance, the Winchesters rolled into Singer's Salvage about 2:30 a.m. Rumsfeld announces their arrival, jerking Dean awake. He hit his head on the window. "Son of bitch!" he grimaced. Blinking into the darkness, he saw the dog jumping wildly at the end of his chain, looking the most animated Dean had ever seen him. "Oh. Hey, Rumsfeld. Stupid mutt," Dean grumbled.

"He's just saying hello, Dean," Sam chimed in, yawning and shaking as he sat up to regain feeling in his right arm. "What he ever do to you?"

"It's what he _could_ do that worries me," Dean replied.

Sam shook his head and moved to open the car door. "You're an idiot," he said, climbing out of the car and stretching.

"Takes one to love one," Dean countered, opening his own door and throwing out both legs to stretch, but not yet standing while he taunted his lanky brother.

"Ya idjits need wheelchairs?" Bobby called out suddenly. Neither Sam nor Dean had even seen him come out of the house. "Hurry up and get on in here before Rumsfeld wakes the dead. I don't enjoy exorcising spirits in the middle of the night, ya know."

John slammed the car's trunk, getting his boys' attention for the first time since they had arrived. Sam and Dean both turned in his direction, the trio facing off for a brief moment before John stepped back around to the driver's side of the car to get the last of his things.

"Thanks for taking us in for awhile, Bobby," John said. "I know it was last minute."

"No thanks needed. Always here to help when I can," Bobby said, waving a dismissive hand.

"Sam, Dean, get your stuff," John ordered.

"And step on it, damn it," Bobby quickly interjected, seeing Sam about to respond. "It's late and you two need your beauty sleep."

"I'd say I'm ahead of the game, Bobby," Dean smirked, grabbing his bag from Sammy, who had hauled it out from the backseat. Dean threw the bag over his shoulder and headed up the steps to grin at Bobby.

"I'd say you don't know what game you're playing yet, boy. Why don't you go rest on that for a spell," Bobby grinned back. He briefly grabbed Dean in a hug, nodded at the boy, then lightly pushed him through the door.

Sam followed after grabbing his own bag and slamming the car door. Ignoring his father, who had stopped at the bottom of the steps, he climbed up to the porch and stopped shyly in front of Bobby, who was holding him now at arms length. "Every time I see ya, boy, you must be another inch taller. Are you planning to stop any time soon?"

The younger Winchester smiled as he looked down, then over at his father, his smile faltering as he caught John's eye. "A boy's gotta do what a boy's gotta do," he replied looking back up at Bobby. "Right, Uncle Bobby?"

Bobby simply smiled, brought the boy in for a hug, kissed his forehead, then nodded toward the door. "Get on, now. You know where your room is. Someone's gotta make sure Dean gets tucked in." Sam chuckled and stepped into the old home.

Moving into the doorway, Bobby crossed his arms and looked down at the oldest Winchester with a sigh. "What'd you do now, Winchester?"

"What? I can't bring my boys for a visit to their favorite uncle?"

"Not without a fight, no."

John snatched up his own bag that he had set by his feet and took a couple of steps up toward the older hunter. "I thought they could use a little break," he said.

"Them? Or you?" Bobby asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Both?" John asked smiling, stopping one step below Bobby in an obvious display of submission to the man he had hoped would be their intermediary for the little while John needed to think. Smiling his disarming Winchester grin, it was clear where Dean had inherited the charm that neither women - nor men - were impervious to. But Bobby was very aware of the conniving abilities of the Winchesters. It's just that he chose to play along because more often than not, it was worth it to have them as a part of his life.

"You need some rest too, Winchester. We'll talk about this in the morning," Bobby said, stepping aside so John could enter. "That's a promise," Bobby added, stopping John for a moment to look him in the eye.

John nodded his understanding.

"You know where your room is," Bobby said, letting go of John's arm. "I'll call ya when breakfast is ready."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Unh huh," the old man grunted, watching the last Winchester ascend the stairs to the bedrooms, before he looked back out into the dark, out of careful habit, to be sure nothing and no one was skulking about. He got the feeling, though, that this time, the fight would be under his own roof.

(********)

"What the hell do you mean, 'you'll be back'? Where are you going John?" Bobby demanded in hushed tones, trying not to wake the sleeping boys.

"Out. I'll be back," John replied tersely, taking his now empty breakfast dishes to the sink before heading for the living room to gather his things once again.

Bobby followed him, checking the area by the stairs to make sure the younger Winchesters weren't lurking about yet.

"Back when, John?" Bobby hissed.

John turned on the man, startling him in his tracks. "What are you? My mother?"

Bobby scrunched his nose at the suggestion. "If I were I'd be taking you over my knee right now for your insolence!"

John rolled his eyes before resuming his trek to round up what he needed for his departure. Bobby Singer's bark tended to be way worse than his bite. His own father had been an abusive drunk and Bobby never got physical if he thought his sharp tongue could also do the trick.

"What about your boys?"

"What about them? They are in good hands, aren't they?"

"Of course -"

"Well, then," John interrupted. "You watch out for them and I'll be back!"

"Ok, Terminator! Stop right there!" Bobby yelled now, forgetting his concern about being overheard by prying ears.

John let out a huge sigh, turning around to face Bobby once again. "What is it, Bobby?"

"What is this all about?"

"What is _what_ all about?"

"Your sudden need to pay a house call. Sam looking at you like you just killed his puppy." Bobby looked back now at the stairs. Not seeing any odd movements, he stepped closer to John, calming himself so as not to throttle the fool man in front of him.

"What happened between you two?"

The wall came down over John's face just then, but only a little. "It's not your business, Bobby."

"Oh _you_ brought it here," he replied, pointing to John. "This is _my_ house," he continued, pointing forcefully at the floor. "Those boys are like my blood," he added pointing back toward the stairs now. "This _is_ my business. You made it my business," he finished.

John tilted his head just a bit, near sneering now as he stepped into Bobby's space. "Maybe that was a mistake."

"No, John," Bobby said. "That was the thing you did right. I'm trying to keep your foolish ass from making a mistake!"

The two men stood brooding at each other. The quiet around them palatable as they waited to see who would break first. For the sake of not losing the boys as soon as they had arrived, Bobby decided to be the mature one. He sighed, stepping back one step. "Look, John, whatever it is, let me help."

John lifted his chin, acknowledging the mutual agreement to tone down the anger. He drew a hand down his face, then looked toward the stairs as if he too was expecting to see either boy any minute. He shook his head, turning back to his waiting bag.

"Bobby, don't worry about it. You _are_ helping, but I've got this. I just need a minute and I will be back." John zipped the bag as he spoke, lifting it now as he turned back to Bobby. "I promise."

"What are they going to say, John? What am I going to tell them?" Bobby asked softly.

"They aren't kids, Bobby," John argued.

"Yes, they are, damn it! Can't you see that?"

"Fine," John conceded. "But they are _my_ kids and I will handle this. We just needed a place to crash. We won't take up too much of your time. I will be back and we'll keep this moving."

"No," Bobby quickly answered, reaching out to stop John as he turned to leave. John stopped, but this time would not turn around. "They are safe here," Bobby said. "I will keep them safe. They are welcome to stay here as long as you need them to. Whatever it is that is broken, I'm sure it can be fixed. Just do what you need to, John, but don't do anything foolish."

John stood still a little longer looking toward the door as Bobby watched to see what he would decide. He got a nod for his answer, then watched John walk quickly to and out the door with a careful click behind him.

"Stubborn ass," Bobby muttered, heading back to the kitchen to finish getting breakfast ready before the two human vacuums finally woke up.

"Good riddance," Sam whispered at the top of the stairs where he and Dean were crouching in the shadows trying to be quiet, lest Bobby, their Dad or both heard them and decided to teach them a painful lesson about eavesdropping. Dean elbowed his flippant brother.

"Ow!" Sam cried out, trying to keep the noise down. "What? They can't hear us, jerk."

"Yeah, well, I can hear you, bitch. Now shut up and get dressed. I smell food."

(********)

"What's cookin', Bobby?" Dean asked as he sauntered into the kitchen, swiftly turning a chair toward himself and throwing a leg over it to sit backward at the table. He leaned over the back of the chair and picked at a plate of bacon, managing to snag, then drop one piece, when Bobby slapped his hand with the clean wooden spoon he was holding.

"Ow! What was that for?" the offended boy asked, rubbing the back of his hand.

"Wait for your brother."

"What? Why? Don't you know no plate is safe when that dude is around? Jabba the Hut would starve with him around!"

Bobby whipped around, leveling the spoon at his second obstinate Winchester of the day. "Look, boy, don't play with me today. If I say wait, you wait!"

Dean's head snapped back. "OK," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "OK, Bobby, I'm sorry."

Bobby sighed lowering his spoon and looking anew at the younger version of John sitting before him. "You haven't had a lot of normal in your young life, Dean."

Dean looked quizzically at the man, but couldn't debate him.

"When you're here," Bobby continued, "I just, well, I just want to give you something normal, boy."

"Like waiting for Sammy?"

"Like eating together as a family."

Dean looked at the back of the chair, a half smile on his suddenly shy face. "We eat together," he said quietly. Bobby said nothing, simply looking at the boy. "Sometimes," Dean amended. Bobby crossed his arms this time. "OK, maybe it's usually just me and Sammy, or we're all eating on the run."

"Uh huh," Bobby said, finally turning back to his pot of slow cook oatmeal. "You're here now. We're waiting," Bobby pronounced.

"Waiting for what?" Sam asked suddenly, roughly pulling out a chair and falling into it, looking from Bobby to Dean and back again.

"You, slowpoke," Dean replied.

"Dean," Bobby warned, turning to glare at the smartalec across from him.

"Sorry, Uncle Bobby," Dean said.

"Don't apologize to me," Bobby replied, gesturing toward the other boy in the room.

"Sorry you're such a slowpoke, Sammy," Dean said reaching back for the discarded bacon.

Sammy slapped at Dean's extended arm, but Dean ducked in time to only feel the brush of Sam's fingers against his wrist. Dean darted for the bacon again, this time to throw it at his gangly brother, who easily caught it and bit it in half before throwing the other half back at his grinning tormentor.

"Boys!" Bobby thundered.

"Sorry, Uncle Bobby," the duo sheepishly replied in unison, this time settling down as Bobby brought bowls to the table.

"Don't make me tan your hides before breakfast, you two. You know for a fact that I wield a mean brush and I have no problem taking you both on," Bobby threatened.

"We know, Uncle Bobby," Sam said, picking at another piece of bacon while Bobby slid some of the oatmeal into his bowl.

Sam clearly remembered a time a few years back when Dean was the one who was 17 and he was 13. They had started out playing in the kitchen before breakfast, light tussling before things turned serious, names were called, slaps were exchanged, then jabs, then harder jabs before Dean got the better of Sam and had him in a chokehold, but not before Sam had knocked him into the table and sent a mason jar of preserved peaches crashing to the floor. Bobby had quickly snatched up the bigger boy on top ordering the other one to start cleaning up, if he knew what was good for him. Suddenly Dean was unable to get his feet all the way under him before he found himself face down on Bobby's desk, pantsed and yelling holy hell as Bobby laid into him with an unyielding flurry of heavy whacks from a rather large and very solid wooden hairbrush - a treasured possession from Bobby's late wife. It had been after Bobby's third and final warning that he and Sam knock it off in the first place.

Dean seemed to be recalling the same memory as he looked over at Sam, remembering how he had knelt on the floor crying after Bobby had soundly spanked him, nursing a hot bottom when he saw a very penitent Sammy begging for forgiveness as he was pulled in next. But Bobby had pointed toward the kitchen then, ordering Dean to take his sniffling and return to finish the cleaning job Sam had started. Bobby had told Sam because Dean was old enough to know better, he had gotten the worst of it with 15 solid licks, but Sam was still getting 10 of his own. That set Sam to wailing before Bobby could lay the first hand on him. Dean had found himself wiping up spilled fruit and cringing at the sound, hating that he had brought this pain down on his little brother, vowing to not let it happen again. And it hadn't. Until the threat of it just now.

"We know all too well," Dean added. "By the way, did we ever thank you for not telling Dad?"

Bobby had set glasses on the table and was rummaging in the refrigerator for orange juice. He slammed the door shut and was opening the carton spout, a crooked smile on his face as he started to pour into Sam's glass. "The situation was resolved. There was no need to bring your daddy into it. Even though I think he knew something was up when neither one of you gave him lip about going out for your morning run."

Sammy looked at Bobby and smiled his silent thanks, taking the glass of juice as Dean handed his over to Bobby.

"Eat up now," Bobby said. "There's work to be done."

The mention of the run made Sam's head shoot up first, his eyes wide with worry. "We don't have to run first, do we, Dean?" he asked.

"Your daddy said you needed a little break," Bobby answered as Dean sat up straight, the worry now falling over his face. "So, you're taking a little break. Now eat your breakfast."

Dean looked relieved. When John was away, Bobby had the final word. Dean raised his glass to take a sip while sending a brief and painless jab into Sam's leg with his knee. Bobby just shook his head. He had never seen two boys more old before their time than these two, and yet there was clearly plenty of youthful spark left in them both. Bobby was determined to keep that spark going as long as he was around to make sure they could be the kids they were supposed to be.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of breakfast was uneventful and Bobby had finally managed to take some time to sit with the boys and eat something too. He had been cooking earlier - some quick bacon, eggs and toast was John's preference versus the stick-to-your-ribs oatmeal he had planned for the still-growing boy and his older brother. He had been talking to their stubborn dad about the job he ended up turning Caleb on to in the Minnesota forest. Then he lost his appetite when John first announced that he was going to go out for a spell, leaving Bobby to try unsuccessfully to pull more information out of him.

But John was gone now and Bobby was surprised neither Sam nor Dean had asked after their dad.

"Sam, do me a favor would ya?" Bobby asked.

"Sure thing, Uncle Bobby."

"Open up a can of dog chow for Rumsfeld and take some of these bacon scraps out to him too. Normally I'd share more of my breakfast with him, but with three hungry Winchesters around, gotta make sure there's something around to feed ya."

"Aww, Bobby, I coulda finished that bacon, ya know," Dean whined.

"You aren't starving, Dean," Sam replied.

"Says you!" Dean retorted.

"Just do it," Bobby ordered. "I'm going to take care of these dishes. Dean you go make up your beds."

"Do I have to -" Dean then saw the look on Bobby's face and quickly stood up. "Yes, yes I do."

"And when you're done, Dean, I've got some scrap in the yard that needs moving. Some hunters are coming by later to look for some parts for their trucks and I need to move some things out their way."

"OK, Bobby," Dean agreed and went to do as he was told.

"Sam?" Bobby stopped the boy as he pulled out a can opener to pry the lid off the can of dog food.

"Yeah?"

"You aren't wondering where your daddy is?"

Sam's face tightened and he moved to position the opener on the can, starting to turn the handle. "Not really." He looked quickly over at Bobby, the concern on his face evident. "Um, I, uh, heard the door close and since he wasn't down here when we got here, it was pretty safe to assume he was outside somewhere or gone." Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

Sam finished opening the can, tossed the lid in the trash and moved to grab the extra bacon. "No big deal, Uncle Bobby. He does it all the time, right?" Sam gave Bobby the best it-doesn't-bother-me smile he had. "Rumsfeld is probably starving," he said gesturing toward the door, waiting for Bobby to dismiss him.

"Yeah, boy. Go do that. And when you come back, I'm gonna need ya to help me do some research. Those same hunters are on a case and it's not often I get the help of one of the best researchers there is under the age of 18."

Sam grinned at the compliment. It was a rare thing when someone took the time to tell him he was doing a good job. Dean did sometimes, when he was especially impressed. But for the most part, he was starting to feel taken advantage of, mainly by Dad who seemed to think his life and what he wanted should always take a backseat to the hunt dejour.

"You got it, Bobby. I don't usually get to have so many great books available to help figure things out. It'll be fun!"

"Good, kid," Bobby smiled. "Git now."

"OK," Sam said, turning to leave. "Oh and Bobby?"

"Yeah?"

"I won't be under 18 much longer." Sam smiled proudly.

"Don't remind me, son," Bobby said, the thought of Sam legally becoming an adult soon momentarily saddening him.

Sam ran out to feed Rumsfeld, just ahead of Dean, who had come back down and was on his way out, too. "I suppose you don't know when Dad will be back, right, Bobby?" Dean asked upon entering the kitchen, as if he had overheard Bobby and Sam's conversation.

"He didn't say. Why?"

Dean shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I don't know. I just thought maybe, later, when I'm done with the yard work and Sam's done helping you-"

"Were you eavesdropping, boy?" Bobby asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"What? No! No, Uncle Bobby. It's just that it didn't take me long, that's all. Sam's anal these days, didn't you know? He had already made his bed so I only had to do mine."

"Uh huh," Bobby replied, relaxing his stance.

"Anyway, I was thinking when we're done, Sam and I could head out for a bit?"

"To do what?" Bobby asked, suspicions starting to rise again.

Dean shrugged again. "I don't know. Not get into any trouble, of course."

"No, of course not," Bobby agreed with a sardonic tone.

"Just do something fun for Sammy, you know? He and dad got into it a bit -"

"About what, exactly?" Bobby was glad someone was finally addressing the matter at hand.

"Oh," Dean started, looking at the door to make sure no one was coming through. "Well, it's just that Sammy told us he was thinking about college and Dad didn't take it too well."

"Ah," Bobby said, the light finally going on. "Knowing John, instead of saying 'way to go,' he said something stupid like 'no way.' "

"Well, he didn't say 'no,' exactly. That's when he said we needed a timeout."

"Uh huh," Bobby said, getting the gist of John's mindset now.

"So I just figured maybe, since Dad is probably going to be out for awhile, maybe I can take Sam out to just blow off a little steam? If that's ok with you?"

Bobby nodded as he considered the request. "He's just a kid now, Dean. _You_ are a legal adult - on paper, if not in actions," he added only a little under his breath. "But Sam is 17, so don't go doing anything that could get him - or you - into any real trouble."

"No, sir. I won't. I promise!" Dean exclaimed, flashing that grin again. Two promises from two Winchesters in one day was about all Bobby could stand.

"Go on and get the work done, boy. Those hunters won't be here until some time after 5. That should give us plenty of time to get things set up. I'll give ya some money -"

"Oh, you don't have to Uncle Bobby," Dean quickly said. The last thing he wanted was for John to find out. John wasn't big on charity, not even from "family," despite the number of times he, Sam and Dean had crashed with family and friends throughout the years when money was too tight to get a motel room. Still, if he heard that Bobby had given them money...

"Don't interrupt me, boy."

"Sorry," Dean said.

"Now I would have been feeding y'all dinner anyway. So I'll give ya some money later and your daddy doesn't have to know," Bobby said, knowing all too well what Dean was thinking. "You take your brother out to eat and do whatever other _innocent_ stuff you want to do. Just make sure you don't stay out too late. If your daddy does get home before you do, I don't have any control over what happens next, Cinderella."

"OK, Bobby. I know and we won't. Thanks." Dean smiled a sincere smile of gratitude and headed out the door crashing into Sam who was on his way back in.

"Hey, watch it, gigantor!" Dean yelped.

"You were in _my way_ , short stuff!" Sam sassed back.

"What?! We're the same height, dude!" Dean yelled, offended. "But barely!"

"Boys!" Bobby shouted over the din. The pair in the doorway stopped and glared at each other.

"Sorry," Dean gritted out.

"Yeah," Sam sneered. "Sorry."

Dean pushed his way out, purposely knocking into Sam. Sam used equal force to get into the house, brushing up against Dean, and went to the kitchen sink to wash up from feeding the dog. Bobby just threw up his hands. "Hurry up, then Sam. This hunt won't research itself." These boys were going to be the death of him - if not each other.

(********)

Hauling salvage yard junk was hard work. Moving it from one spot to another felt like some sort of lesson from one of those Greek tragedies Dean had been forced to read in school. But it was a workout and Dean could not only appreciate a good workout, he also sorta felt like doing it would have gained Dad's approval as an acceptable substitute to their normal routine.

Sometime in the middle of the day, Bobby had called Dean in to get a sandwich, which he inhaled so he could finish up the job as soon as possible. Before he knew it, it was going on 5 and he had finally completed the task.

Going inside, he passed by Sam and Bobby who were buried in books in the study. He couldn't believe they had been inside flipping pages for as long as he had been outside flipping scrap metal. Then again, that's what bookworms did, happily munching their way from book to book. Dean could easily picture Sam in some college library oblivious to the hot co-eds giggling all around him, actually getting his rocks off learning for the sake of learning. "God, Sam, you're such a nerd," he murmured to himself. He couldn't have been prouder of the kid, even if he wasn't quite ready to lose him.

"Hey," he finally said out loud. "You, uh, gonna be at this for much longer, Einstein?"

Sam's head shot up as he was interrupted mid-sentence. "Dean!" It took him a second to formulate a sentence as he was so excited to be surrounded by all the great books Bobby had in his library. "Have you _seen_ Uncle Bobby's books?" Sammy asked, pointing at the tomes scattered across the table. "This stuff is amazing! Totally could have clued us in way earlier that rawheads had to be electrocuted instead of us figuring it out the hard way."

"You know you boys can always call me for help," Bobby reminded them.

"Yeah, we know, Bobby, but this was after you and Dad had just had that fight."

"Which fight was this?" Bobby asked, trying to think back to which of the many altercations between him and John Dean could have been referring to.

"Awwww, who knows. You and Dad fight worse than me and Sam sometimes."

"Yeah, you might be right about that," Bobby chuckled.

"Anyway, Sammy," Dean continued. "I was thinking maybe, after I get cleaned up, you and me can go paint the town whatever color you want. You like pink, don'tcha?"

Sam threw a wad of discarded paper at Dean's head.

"You missed! Come on, squirt, it's your winter break. You should live it up a little!"

"Do you mind, Uncle Bobby?"

"I don't see why not. Your brother is a responsible, uh, well, he's an adult," Bobby said, winking at Sam.

"Hey! That must be like the fifth time my reputation has been impugned!" Dean exclaimed.

"Define impugn," Sam teased.

"I don't have to know what it means to feel the pain, Sammy," Dean replied, hand on heart with mock hurt in his voice.

"Aw, I'm sorry, son. You know there is no one I trust with Sammy's life more than you," Bobby said.

"Yeah and you're plenty smart too," Sam added with the pride reserved for little brothers in awe of their older siblings.

"You're just saying that so I'll let you talk me into doing something nerdy tonight," Dean responded.

"Whatever you want to do is fine by me, Dean." Sam always loved it when Dean treated him him like an equal, although sometimes that got him into situations that his butt had to pay for later.

"I'm going to go take a shower while you finish up here," Dean said. "That is if you can tear yourself away?"

"Totally," Sam laughed.

(********)

"Let's roll, Sammy!" Dean had gotten cleaned up in about 30 minutes, Sam had finally closed the books and Bobby had given them enough money for dinner at any reasonably priced establishment within the county. What they did next was up to them.

"Wait," Sam suddenly exclaimed. "Didn't Dad take the car?"

"Nope!" Dean happily replied. "I don't know how he got wherever he went to, but it wasn't in the Impala." Dean held the prized keys up and started shaking them.

"Then how -," Sam pondered.

"Don't look a gift horse in the kisser, Sammy. Let's go!" Dean turned to the older hunter in charge. "Bobby, I promise I won't keep the little one up too late."

"Hey, I'm not little!" Sam protested.

"We can all see that, sasquatch," Dean teased.

"You just watch your speed and your behavior, ya hooligans," Bobby warned them. "If I get a call to come bail ya out of whatever mess you've gotten yourselves into, the cops won't be able to keep you safe from _me!_ "

"I've got this," Dean assured Bobby, opening the front door and bounding down the steps.

"Umm hmm," Bobby replied before grabbing Sam's arm as he started to follow Dean. "You watch your brother," he said in a hushed tone.

"Don't worry, Uncle Bobby. I've got this," Sam grinned, rushing out behind Dean.

Bobby closed the door, shaking his head at the boys he was proud to call his family. Suddenly he remembered the car. Bobby wondered where John might have gone off to if he hadn't taken the Impala. How far _could_ he have gone? He thought of the rack hanging on the kitchen wall, full of keys to the various cars and trucks in his yard that actually ran. Hurrying over, he inspected the collection. Sure enough, a set was missing.

"Why that...ya couldn't have just asked, Winchester?" Bobby fussed. What was the point of not asking, he wondered. It's not like he wouldn't have loaned John the truck if he'd just asked. Shaking his head at the oldest Winchester now, Bobby decided to not worry about it anymore that night. It was time to pop some popcorn and get ready to catch his favorite show. Tonight was the marathon of _Tori and Dean_. What could be better?

(********)

"So where are we going?" Sam asked.

Dean pulled the bills from his pocket and quickly sifted through them with one hand, keeping his other hand on the steering wheel as he drove. "Yeah. This will do nicely," Dean said, smiling at his hand, then grinning at his brother. "What I was thinking, little brother, is that we should celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

"Your impending college acceptance, of course!"

"That's not definite, Dean."

"It's only a matter of time, Sammy. You know it. I know it. Dad knows it too. That's why he's got us out here on this little getaway."

Sam pondered this for a moment. "You think he really thinks I can go to college?"

"Sammy, think about it. We've been in every backwater town all over this country. Bounced around so many schools, probably even repeated a few. They do all start to look alike after a while. We can't get comfortable. We can't make friends because you never know when we'll have to leave again. Makes it real hard to keep up, you know? But you? _You_ always manage to stay in step." Dean looked over at Sam in admiration. " _You_ always manage to wrap those teachers around that big brain of yours. And…," Dean added as if he suddenly remembered, "...you still manage to keep Dad and me one step ahead of the things that go bump in the night with those fine researching skills of yours. It's a thing of beauty, Sammy. Color me impressed."

Watching Dean talk, Sam couldn't help but smile. No matter what happened, he knew Dean would support him. He couldn't believe he had been mad at Dean for not saying something back when Dad said they should come here in the first place. It had been a chance to read all of Bobby's great books. Dad hadn't been around to bug him. And now he had a chance to hang out with his big brother. OK, so maybe the trip wasn't such a waste after all.

"Well, there's no guarantee that a college will want me no matter how the teachers feel about me. They can only accept so many and they're going to want the best and the brightest; kids who can show they really have a lot to offer."

"You have a lot to offer! I'll tell anybody who asks me!" Dean replied.

Sam chuckled. "I doubt they will rely solely on the word of my brother."

"I can be extremely convincing, Sammy," Dean said, wriggling his eyebrows and giving Sam his most mischievous grin.

"Ha! Don't I know it? My ass has been burned many a time because I let you convince me to do something I shouldn't have."

"Aw come on, Sammy. Every one of those times has been an adventure! An opportunity to partake of life, my friend! Like now -"

"What about now?" Sammy asked suspiciously. "Where are we going, Dean?"

"I told you. To celebrate!"

"We're supposed to be getting something to eat."

"And we will!" Dean said, finger triumphantly pointing in the air. "If I remember correctly, there's a hot dog joint over on one of those number streets off the main drag. And across from there…" Dean looked over again and simply smiled at his curious brother who was afraid to guess at what Dean _wasn't_ saying.

"Across from there? What, Dean? What's across from there?"

"Well, let's just say, if we're going to toast to your future, we should do it right."

(********)

Sam didn't know who was going to get it worse this time around if Dad found out - Dean for thinking of it or Sam for going along with it - but he couldn't let himself bother to care too much right now. Right now was a rare opportunity. For once he wasn't going to be the wet blanket.

It took a good 30 minutes to get there, but Dean had found the hot dog stand he mentioned, although people weren't exactly flocking to Sioux Falls for its famous hot dog cuisine, so Sam had kept his expectations low.

They had loaded up - well, Dean had loaded up - on a few of their specials, making sure to burden each of the dark pink sausages with goopy mounds of onions. Sam wished Dean gave a damn about how the smell always permeated the car for days afterward, let alone how getting too close to Dean himself after consuming copious amounts of onions could be hazardous to your health.

At Dean's insistence, Sam had gotten two dogs and had happily watched the server pour thick chili and cheese onto each of them. It was the best kind of chili for a hot dog - lots of beans but not too much runny chili to soak the bun and ruin it before you had a chance to handle it.

Sam was going to get a large soda as well, but Dean cut him off saying they had another stop to make, then he ordered the whole lot to go.

Climbing back into the car, Dean grinned at Sammy as he shoved the bags at him. "Hold this," Dean said, starting up the car. "Gotta get us something to wash these down with."

"That's what I was trying to do," Sam replied, looking puzzled.

"Uh huh," Dean said, momentarily distracted as he checked to make sure it was safe to go across the 4-lane road. Sam looked up to find the possible intended destination. Casting his eyes left and right, there was only one place that was starting to make sense and that was precisely where Dean was headed.

"What are you doing, Dean?"

"What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're going to a liquor store."

"Yahtzee!" Dean happily confirmed, throwing the car into park and jumping out before Sam had a chance to protest. "Stay here, young buck," Dean good-naturedly ordered before slamming the door and confidently strolling into the brightly lit building. Dean was solidly within drinking age and even though he had nothing but fake IDs making him older than he looked - which meant he could have bought whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted - Sam knew, at least on this one point, Dean was within his Dad-given rights to buy the stuff.

But up until now, Sam had only managed to have very few beers - with Dad's permission - when Dad was feeling particularly lax and playful with his boys. He and Dean had shared a few as well without Dad's knowledge and maybe Sam had even managed to accidentally sample some spiked punch at a friend's secret party that was held while his friend's parents were away - and Dad was simultaneously on a hunt, so Dean was a little more willing to bend the curfew rules. But that had been about the extent of it. He didn't know what Dean was getting from this store now, but he suspected it wasn't going to be a few innocent beers this time.

Waiting in the car, Sam was tempted to bite into one of his hot dogs and was looking in the bag when Dean threw open the door once again. "Starting without me, Sammy boy?" he playfully chided. "That's cool." Dean slid a heavy-looking, bulky bag on the seat between them as he sat down again and slammed the door. The weight of the bag pressed against Sam's arm and he wondered what was inside. "You never want to drink on an empty stomach, so have at!"

"Drink? Dean, you know I haven't had much more than beer. Is that what's in the bag?"

"Yes and no," Dean answered mysteriously, as he looked over at Sam and winked.

"We can't get drunk, Dean. Bobby will kill us both for sure! Then Dad will raise us from the dead so he can kill us all over again!"

"Who said anything about getting drunk? It's just a few drinks, Sammy. Nothing too hard. I wouldn't want to ruin your virginal reputation," Dean teased, maneuvering around the bag to poke at Sam's side.

"I'm not…" Sam started, slapping at Dean's hand, then thought better of it since this time Dean's little tease wasn't all that wrong.

"It's ok, Sammy," Dean comforted, tapping against the side of Sam's leg with the back of his hand before starting up and backing out the car. "You won't be a virgin forever. Someday you won't scare away the right girl with your nerdy ways."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam sulked. Normally he didn't care about his lack of any real sexual experience, but when Dean started in on the topic, he suddenly felt inadequate and wished he could just hurry up and do it already. But the timing never seemed to be right. He either liked a girl, but ran out of time to get to know her, or he managed to connect with one who seemed to like him a great deal - enough to want to show him how much - but again, time would run out before he had a chance to even think about sliding into home base. Now that he really thought about it, Dad and his stupid hunts had been the consistent source of his sexual frustrations. Damn, that sounded wrong.

"You know at this rate, with Dad constantly dragging us all over the map, I'll never get a chance to… you know," Sam said awkwardly.

"If you're still saying 'you know,' Sammy, then maybe you aren't quite ready to…'you know' just yet anyway," Dean replied somewhat seriously. Then he paused as he thought. "I'm just messing with ya, Sammy. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do right now." Grinning again, he added, "Just because I lost my virginity at the ripe old age of 16 doesn't make you a bitch or anything. Well, you _are_ a bitch," Dean corrected himself, "but you know what I mean."

Sam rolled his eyes and decided to dive into the hot dog bag again.

"Toss me one of those, will ya?" Dean asked, holding out his hand, wiggling his fingers in anticipation, while he kept his eyes on the dark road. They had already left the small downtown area and were headed back toward Bobby's house.

"Where are we taking these, Dean? We can't exactly go back home." Sam handed Dean one of his onion-laden buns, wondering how he always managed to eat without making a mess in the car, considering his actual 'table' manners were less than stellar.

"Of course not, dude. I don't have a deathwish. There's a place about halfway there. We can pull off, eat and have ourselves a drink or five."

Sam looked over at the bulky brown bag again. "What exactly is in there, anyway?" He bit heartily into his own chili-smothered delight.

"Just a little something to put some hair on ya chest, Sammy my boy. Nothing to worry about!"

Sam looked over at Dean, skepticism clearly displayed, but mouth too full to answer.

"What?" Dean asked innocently. "Come on, Sammy! I've got ya here! Have I ever steered you wrong?"

Sam shook his head in feigned annoyance. It didn't matter. It was too late. He was in this now. He may as well go along for the ride.


	3. Chapter 3

There were miles of woods between downtown Sioux Falls and Bobby's house. It was a fairly long stretch too, so if two young Winchesters wanted to go off radar for a bit, this might be the best place to do it - close enough to home that no one would suspect they were right under their hunter noses, yet far enough for a boy to regain enough sobriety to fake it before sneaking back in, probably past a reasonable time. The punishment then might only be for tardiness if the warden of the hour was asleep. Otherwise, it was probably best to stay out all night and claim to have fallen asleep somewhere, giving said boy time to sleep off that night's drinking activities.

Dean had pulled onto a partially hidden, unpaved side road, driving deeper into the woods until they were surrounded by dark trees and it seemed like they were the last two people on Earth before civilization began.

"How do you know about this spot, Dean?" Sam asked, settling into his seat to pull out his second hot dog.

Dean snorted, taking his own bag to find another dog. "Sometimes a guy needs to get away from the madness, Sammy."

"Madness?" Sam repeated around a mouthful of hot dog.

"You and I live the same life, Sammy. Mostly." Dean grinned. "You know what I mean. Coming to Bobby's is great and all, but Dad has a pretty long reach and sometimes I just need someplace to be alone and think. Where no one can ask me what I'm thinking about or order me around."

Sam chewed thoughtfully. He had always accused Dean of being Dad's good little soldier, but he had also assumed Dean was always fine with the job. He rarely complained unless it was about something he thought would be unfair to Sam, leaving Sam to think Dean just concurred with Dad's actions. Maybe he was wrong about that.

Swallowing, Sam looked over at Dean. "What do _you_ think about, Dean?" he asked carefully, afraid Dean might get skittish and shut down on him before he got a chance to find out how wrong he was.

But Dean took a bite of his hot dog and dropped his hand back to his lap, leaning back as he chewed, clearly relishing the flavor. Sam stayed silent. Sometimes waiting for Dean to respond was like watching a jack-in-the-box. You knew that damn clown was going to pop out eventually, but you didn't know when and in Dean's case, you couldn't even be sure you were going to get the reaction you were expecting - but it was still fascinating to see it happen - you know, if you didn't hate clowns.

"Just thinking about the usual, Sam. Our lives, whatever hunt we're on, how to make money, next time I'll get laid…"

Sam rolled his eyes again. "Back to that again. It really is all you ever think about."

"Nuh uh," Dean said defensively. "I think about you too, Sammy; what you're going to do with your life. Because you sure as hell don't want to be here with us. A blind man can see that."

Sam looked incredulously at his brother. "Don't want to be here? That's not true, Dean…"  
Dean snorted. "Not all the time, anyway," Sam admitted. "But most of the time, I do. It's true!"

"Sure it is," Dean said sarcastically.

Sam narrowed his eyes and took an annoyed bite of his hot dog.

"It's ok, Sammy. I don't blame you. You've got a bright future ahead of you doing all that normal stuff you could be doing. I know Dad's not exactly the easiest person to get along with -"

"You don't seem to have any trouble," Sam whispered.

Dean chuckled. "We have our moments. Believe me. I just know how to play the game, Sam. I know what buttons to push, when and how. I know when to speak up and when to shut the fuck up. The problem with you, Sam, is you never wanted to learn how to play the game."

"It's hard to learn if the rules keep changing, Dean."

"They don't change, Sam. You do," Dean said, wiping his fingers on a paper napkin and stuffing it back into the brown bag.

"What?"

"It's ok. I'm not blaming you. You're a kid. You're supposed to change. You're supposed to expand your mind and broaden your worldview. You're supposed to learn things, become more aware, find your own voice, yadda yadda yadda. It's just that unfortunately for you, you're doing all that while being a Winchester."

"That's nuts, Dean. They shouldn't be mutually exclusive."

"Not nuts. Just Dad." Still leaning back on the seat, Dean rolled his head to the side to look at Sam. "He's stuck, Sammy, ok? He's stuck on what happened to Mom, what happened to the life he was supposed to have - _we_ were supposed to have - and what happened that night. His whole world ended before yours even got started." Dean rolled back, looking at the ceiling. "And I got stuck along with him," he said sadly, thoughts of his mom never far from his mind.

Sam gulped. Dean had never been quite so transparent before. It was amazing how much you could see when you're sitting in the dark.

"It doesn't have to be that way, Dean," Sam said quietly. "You don't have to be stuck. You don't have to stay. I'm surprised you've stayed this long."

Dean laughed. "Why? Where would I go? I don't exactly have anything out there to hold on to except for you and Dad. Besides, I wouldn't purposely leave you alone very long with Dad. You'd kill each other!"

At that, Dean sat up, pulling the bulky bag into his lap. "You know, I'm gonna need a drink, Sammy, if we're gonna be doing all this caring and sharing." Sam laughed, taking the last bite of his hot dog.

Dean smiled at Sam as he dug into the bag, pulling out a slim, clear bottle filled with bronze liquid. "A little whiskey for me, since I'm the experienced one." Putting it on his lap, he reached back into the bag. "A little beer for you, since you're a beginner." He plopped the six-pack of beer on top of the empty hot dog bag that was already on Sam's lap. "And…," he dove back in, gleefully pulling out another six pack. "Hard lemonade to help you get your buzz on safely while introducing you to the wonders of alcohol."

Sam groaned. "That stuff's for girls!"

"You _are_ a girl, Sammy. At least as far as liquor is concerned." Dean balled up the bag, tossing it into the back seat. "You're a novice and you know it, Sam. Don't be fooled. This stuff can hurt ya...You know, if you're a lightweight... Like you."

Dean twisted the cap off the whiskey, motioning for Sam to pop one of his beers. Sam sighed, pulling one of the cans off the plastic rings before putting the whole thing between his feet on the floor. The hard lemonade stayed on the seat between them.

The pop of the beer can being opened filled the car. Dean held up his bottle and Sam mirrored his action with his own can. "Here's to you and your collegiate future, Sammy. You're the smartest kid I know and any school would be lucky to have you. This is my early congratulations for getting in wherever you get into and my congratulations for standing up to Dad enough to tell him what you want to do. You're a brave kid, Sam Winchester." Dramatically tapping Sam's beer can, Dean tipped the bottle to his lips and took a slow draw of the whiskey. "Ahhh!" he said contentedly. "This is the life." It was always easy for Dean to just focus on what was in front of him, like the whiskey and this moment with his little brother, so he wouldn't have to think about what might be coming along to change his life for the worse, like Sam leaving them for good.

Sam sipped his beer tentatively. Then, deciding he was thirstier than he realized, went back in for a bigger gulp.

"Pace yourself, Sammy," Dean warned.

Sam ignored him and kept chugging the thick liquid. Dean watched him and chuckled to himself before taking another slow sip from his own bottle.

The chugging made Sam belch, but neither he nor Dean acknowledged it. "I know you don't want to go, Dean, but you know I have to eventually, right?" The beer had already made Sam brave enough to dive right back into the conversation.

Dean rubbed his cheek, then twisted the cap back onto the bottle. He looked quietly ahead for a moment before nodding. "I know, Sammy. I was hoping maybe you wouldn't or, maybe, we could work something out?"

"Like what?" Sam asked, taking another loud sip of his beer.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you won't go too far away?"

"Dean, we move around all the time. No matter where I go, you and Dad will be someplace else. Far away kinda comes with the territory."

"Maybe," Dean said. Not as ready to stop drinking as he thought he might be, Dean untwisted the whiskey cap again and took another sip, this time tossing the cap in the back seat along with the bag. "Hey, maybe you can go to school here," he said brightly.

"South Dakota?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. That way you're at least near Bobby and it will be _kinda_ like you're not too far away."

"I wasn't exactly planning to look around here, Dean," Sam said slowly. At Dean's obvious disappointment, Sam quickly added. "But you never know, right? I mean South Dakota State may be the only school that will accept me! Can't hurt to try."

Dean gave him a thankful smile. He knew Sam was placating him, but he'd accept it for now.

Sam finished his beer and dropped the empty can on the floor. Reaching for another one, he said, "You know, you _could_ come with me."

"And do what? Live in your dorm? Be your maid?" Dean joked.

"You could work, Dean. You could even go to school! We'd get an apartment-"

"Oh, so I'd get to take care of you? Again?" Dean asked, laughing as he put the bottle to his lips yet again.

"We'd be together," Sam said, watching Dean's face for any trace of serious consideration of Sam's idea. Dean looked over at him. Turning in his seat, he squinted at Sam, studying his face.

"You're serious, aren't you? You've really given this some thought," he said in surprise, the realization that this was not a joke dawning on him.

Sam turned in his own seat. "Dad's a grown man, Dean. So are you! You don't have to stay with him -"

"I already told you, Sam," Dean said, turning back to face the front of the vehicle. "Dad needs me."

"No! He doesn't, Dean! And you don't need him anymore! Neither do I!"

"OK, knock it off, Sam!" Dean yelled. "That's enough!" Breathing deep, Dean looked over at Sam, who was huffing in anger and clearly gearing up for yet another fight with Dad except this time the man wasn't here to fight with. Dean sighed, mad at himself for getting angry when all he wanted to do was have fun with his little brother. He lovingly reached over to muss Sam's hair.

"He does need me, Sam," he said softly. "But that doesn't mean I won't be there for you too."

Sam turned to look out his window. He had hoped that somehow his chance to go to school would be his opportunity to free his brother too. Dean was attached to him. He knew it. There would be just no way Dean would ever let Sam get too far away from him, and as much as that bugged him on the outside, Sam was also counting on it. He had hoped wherever he went, Dean would stay in his orbit and Sam could eventually get him away from their father and standing on his own like a 22-year-old should. It would be good for him, Sam had decided. Dean always thought he knew what was best for Sam. He failed to consider that, in turn, Sam knew what was best for him too.

Looking back at Dean, Sam saw his brother was staring at him. "I really am happy for you, you know," Dean said. "I'm proud of you."

"I know," Sam said, his brother's sincerity melting away his anger. "I'm proud of you too."

Dean chuckled and playfully hit Sam on the shoulder. "Of course you are! I'm an awesome big brother!" He pulled a hard lemonade from its cardboard holder, pulling a bottle opener from his pocket like magic. Opening the bottle, he handed Sam the drink. "Buying you drinks before you're 18," he said, picking up his previous thought. "You are one lucky kid. Or you could be. You're a Winchester, for fuck's sake! We've gotta get you a girl!"

Sam took the drink, sniffing the bottle. Taking a careful sip, he smiled, instantly liking the taste.

"One thing at a time, Dean. First, we have to get rid of all this evidence," he said, gesturing around himself a little too fast, causing some of the drink to spill from the bottle.

"Careful, Sammy! I can't take Baby back smelling like a brewery! We'll get busted for sure!"

"Sorry!" Sam said, taking another swig from the bottle. It did taste somewhat like lemonade. It was pretty good actually. He could see himself having a little more of this and giggled at the thought.

Dean smiled at his little brother, opening one of the bottles for himself. Sam was always a happy drunk and he loved that about him. Although Dean was also glad he had thought to stow some water bottles in the trunk. He was going to have to pull some out to keep Sam as sober as possible, but not yet. He was too busy enjoying what could easily be the last time he and Sam would get a chance to just sit, talk, drink and be together. He was certainly going to miss this when Sam was gone.

(********)

Three and a half hours, 5 beers, 4 hard lemonades, half a bottle of whiskey and two bladder-relieving trips into the woods later, Sam and Dean were lying on the hood of the Impala, trying to see the star-laden sky through the dense trees. Sam was convinced he could point out constellations, but instead they were twisting their necks at odd angles trying to peer through the branches overhead and laughing instead at the weird shapes the trees were making. For most people, this would be spooky. For the Winchesters, this was home.

"That one!" Sam said excitedly, unsteadily pointing at a random tree. "What does that remind you of?"

"That?" Dean mused. "That would be Pastor Jim chasing me through the pews that Sunday afternoon after he realized the communion wine had been switched to bourbon."

Sam laughed so hard, he nearly rolled off the car, but not before Dean grabbed his jacket to haul him back.

"The organist lady had had one too many on the side and decided to rock out to Rock of Ages!" Dean snickered, still holding on to Sammy who was giggling uncontrollably.

"Oh man! I'm sorry I missed that! I knew I shouldn't have gone with Dad to the store!" Sam lamented.

"You had to, dude. You've always been so picky and no one wanted to hear you whining if Dad brought back the wrong soda again." Dean sat up and looked down at his brother who was struggling to prop himself up on his elbows.

" 's not my faul' Pep- Pepsi's better 'n Coke. Take the Pep-see challenge!" Sam slurred.

"Coke's the real thing, dude. Everyone knows that," Dean said. "And I shoulda cut you off after that second lemonade. You suck at holding your liquor, man."

Sam sat all the way up this time, groaning when he realized he had moved too quickly. "Shit!"

"What?" Dean asked, slightly alarmed.

"Why didn' you tell me the trees were alive? They're wavin' at me!"

"That's it, dude. You're drinking some water now," Dean decided sliding off the car, but needing to brace himself before he took his first step.

"Ah ha!" Sam exclaimed. "You're not so tough after all! You're drunk too!"

"Not as much as you, dude. I can handle _my_ liquor. Now stay there! I'll be right back."

"Yes, sir!" Sam agreed, saluting Dean as the older Winchester shook his head and walked - albeit carefully - to the trunk of the car.

It took Dean three tries to get the key in the trunk's lock. OK, so maybe he was a _little_ tipsy. He had only been drinking legally for a year, blatantly increasing his alcohol consumption in front of his dad and Bobby. So he had developed some stamina, but he wasn't quite at Dad level yet.

Rooting around in the trunk for two bottles of water, Sam's yell effectively sobered him up just a little.

"What now?!" Dean yelled, ducking before his head hit the trunk lid. Bending to the side, his hand went on automatic pilot, grabbing the shotgun that was easily within reach, while looking in Sam's direction to see if he could tell what the matter was.

"Did you see that?!" Sam asked nervously, sliding off the car this time to look around and try to find Dean at the same time.

Cocking the rifle, Dean stepped closer to Sam, shoving a bottle of water in his hand. "Drink. Now," he ordered. Sam quickly twisted the cap off the bottle and took a big gulp. "Ok, now, see what, Sammy? I was at the trunk, man. What happened?"

Forcing down the swallow of water, Sam shook his head. "Don' know. Just saw somethin'. Inna woods. Looked like a man, but jus' for a moment." Sam struggled to speak clearly, shaking his head again, this time to try to clear the fog in his brain.

"What do you mean, 'for a moment,' " Dean asked, wracking his brain trying to recall if the description sounded familiar. Being so close to Bobby's house, Dean wanted to call the hunter to warn him and maybe find out if he might know what was in his woods. But he had to be sure Sam wasn't hallucinating first. No sense getting them both reamed unnecessarily if it was just a figment of Sam's imagination.

"It was a man and then it wasn'!" Sam tried to explain. "I'm not seein' things, Dean!"

"Alright, alright! Calm down. I didn't say you were."

"You were thinkin' it!" Sam accused, pointing a slightly waving finger in Dean's face.

"Dude, drink the water," Dean commanded.

"Why should I?" Sam challenged, waving the bottle and sloshing the contents inside.

"It'll help! OK? Now do as I say!" Dean shouted. Sam immediately, drunkenly shushed him.

Dean scanned the trees for anything out of the ordinary. Not knowing if there was something he'd need to fight in addition to having a temporarily defenseless brother on his hands made him very tense. He wished he had something a little more effective than water to help get them both back to their senses.

"It was a man. It was really dark so I couldn' see 'em at first," Sam explained. " But his eyes…"

"What about his eyes, Sam?"

"They looked like bug eyes!"

"What?" Dean asked, dumbfounded now. "You mean they were big?"

"No! Like _bug_ bug eyes, dude. They were lookin' right at me! I didn' know it at first. I thought I was seeing' some kinda animal, then it slid right down 'dat tree and stood up like a man!"

The description was too vivid now for Dean to think Sam _didn't_ see something out there. He licked his lips as he considered his options:

Get Bobby. Get help. Get a beat down.

Call Dad. He calls Bobby if he's not back home yet. Get help. Get _two_ beat downs.

Keep Sam close by. Check it out himself. Prove it's nothing or kill the bastard. Everybody lives.

Option three made the most sense in Dean's still ever-so-slightly alcohol-soaked mind.

Grabbing Sam's jacket, he pulled the boy close to him. "Come on."

"What?" Sam replied, taken aback. "We're goin' after that thing?"

"You got a better idea?" Dean asked, stopping suddenly to face his brother.

"Yeah! We leave!" Sam shouted.

It was Dean's turn to shush his brother. "And let whatever that thing is prey on innocent people?" Dean hoarsely whispered. "There are houses near here, Sam. _Bobby's_ house is near here, Sam," he said with pleading in his voice.

Sam hadn't thought of that. Of course they had to protect Bobby. He had spent all their lives protecting them whenever he could, especially from Dad's silly rules. He patted Dean on the arm. "Yeah, yeah, of course. You're right. We gotta go after it, Dean."

Dean nodded, satisfied that argument was done. "Now stick close," he said yanking on Sam's jacket again. "Yell if you see it again."

"Don' worry," Sam said, watching behind them and clutching Dean's jacket as Dean led them deeper into the woods. "I ain't leavin' your side."


	4. Chapter 4

Stepping carefully on fallen leaves and branches, Dean all but tip-toed through the woods looking for anything out of place. He felt Sam clutching his jacket from behind, which instantly brought back memories of when they were kids, before Sam knew monsters were truly real and that Dean wasn't just humoring him by expelling whatever may have been lurking under Sam's bed or in the closet before Sam would let Dean tuck him into bed.

Creeping deeper into the woods, Dean was starting to feel like maybe Sam wasn't so off on this. He had a weird feeling of being watched, but he couldn't determine from which direction his senses were picking up the impressions. Slowly scanning the area, his eyes roamed over moss-covered trees, bare branches overlapping each other and casting all kinds of dense shadows in the already oppressive darkness.

"Do you hear that?" Dean whispered, stopping to momentarily concentrate all his efforts on his sonar-like hearing.

Sam was quiet, his breathing suddenly halted. Dean knew he was listening too. "Hear what?" Sam whispered back.

"Exactly," Dean uttered, his senses starting to send shivers down his spine. As carefully as he could, Dean grasped the shotgun in both hands, hoping that he had regained enough steadiness to handle whatever might be coming their way. "There's something here, Sammy. Don't move."

Listening closer now, it was becoming evident. A slight rustling in the leaves behind a massive tree caught both Winchesters' attention as they snapped their heads to the right. Dean instinctively pushed Sam behind him as he watched the tree closely, peering into the blackness around it.

The darkness seemed to shift as Dean stared unblinking until he saw a delicate hand start to slink around the trunk of the tree. It looked to be a woman's hand with pale skin and neat but unpolished nails. Transfixed, Dean stepped closer, watching as the woman's hand clutched at the bark, the delicate wrist now in view. The shotgun hung harmlessly at his side while his curiosity pulled him in.

Sam was temporarily paralyzed by the sight. First looking at the scene before him then finally, tentatively stepping from the behind the safety of his brother, Sam could see Dean moving toward a dark figure curling around the tree like a predatory mist. He was yelling to Dean to stop, but soon realized that while he could feel his lips moving, his voice seemed to have ceased working. The dark figure was moving away from the tree, growing larger. The form of a man was taking shape before him. Sam's eyes widened as the figure's dark eyes materialized first and gazed at him, the murky mist dispelling as its body solidified. Sam could finally see the man was his father.

Shaking the apparent daze from his brain, Sam looked again. His father had stepped out from the dank shadow and was now staring angrily at him.

Dean continued to take hesitant steps forward as the woman stepped gingerly out from behind the tree, her blond hair dawning before the rest of her emerged. There was something familiar. Dean's eyes grew wide, his mouth hung open, exhaling a breath of disbelief mingled with relief.

"Mom?" Dean asked, his voice small and perplexed. Wasn't he just with Sam a moment ago? Had he been dreaming all this time?

"Dean," Mary called. She smiled at her first-born, slowly raising her arms like she had the very first time she beckoned him to walk to her. Her fingers curled and extended as she silently motioned for him to come to her now.

Sam wanted to warn Dean that Dad was angry, almost dangerously so, but Dad did not seem to take notice of Dean, only Sam, which sent a new level of fear through the youngest Winchester who had never faced his father truly alone before. Sam felt powerless in a way he had never experienced; he felt voiceless. His self-confidence waned in the presence of this father who seemed devoid of all the humanity that normally kept John Winchester on the moral path, his sons at least on the peripheral of his priorities. This father was all hunter and anything in his path was prey, even his sons.

"You want to betray us, Sam?" the figure hissed in a smarmy voice. "You think you can drain us of our strength and walk away unharmed?"

"D- dad?" Sam finally stuttered, feeling colder than he'd ever felt on a February night in South Dakota. "What are you talking about, Dad?"

"Do not feign ignorance with me, boy!" Dad roared, advancing on the boy.

"Come, Dean. It's been so long, angel. I missed you so much," Mary urged, straining to reach her lost child, but Dean could see she would not move from her place by the tree. He was going to have to go to her.

"Dad, I'm not walking away -" Sam continued.

"Liar! After all I have done for you! After all your brother has done for you! This is how you repay us? You think there are no consequences? You are selfish!"

"No, I'm not!" Sam whined, starting to cower before his now-looming father, helpless to stop himself from feeling the very things that plagued him when his usual stubbornness had temporarily subsided. "I'm doing this _for_ you -"

"You are doing it for yourself! And you dare to want to steal your brother from me too?!"

Sam fell completely now to his knees, humbled before the figure, confused by the warring within himself, wanting to fight for the normal life he knew he deserved yet rooted by the loyalty that had wrapped itself around his soul before he even knew what loyalty was. How had he gotten to this place? Why couldn't he stop Dean from going to their dad?

"Mom, you can't be here," Dean whispered, one hand slowly rising to reach back out to the maternal ones that coaxed him closer. "How can you be here? Where have you been?"

"Dean, I never left you, honey. I was here. Always here. Waiting for you." Mary's voice seemed to carry on the wind, caressing Dean's ear, summoning him home.

Sam should be here, Dean briefly thought before he closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of Mary's embrace before he fully stood before her.

"Boys! Get down now!" The shout opened Dean's eyes pulling him from his daze. Sam lifted his head to look back up at his father who did not appear to speak yet somehow shouted his name.

"Sam! Sammy! Get your brother!"

It was then Sam saw the dad before him start to shift, misting at the edges as the haze around Sam's mind also started to lift. It was then he noticed Dean was standing mesmerized by his side, shotgun still in hand.

"Damn it, wake up Sam!"

"Huh?" Sam shook his head, looking around to spot his real dad behind him poised with some kind of gun he'd never seen before, then the teen reached up to snatch his brother down to the ground beside him. A blast rang out. The creature roared. Sam fell back, jerking Dean back with him. Bright lights seemed to rain down on the figure as if some sort of flare gun had been fired. The creature writhed in the steady light, screaming in pain. Sam hooded his eyes, watching as the shadow and the lights mixed, the roaring rising to a crescendo before both shadow and light doused each other and there was nothing but the dark of the woods again...and the beginnings of a massive headache.

"Are you alright, boys?" John called, hurrying to the spot where the figure last stood to make sure it was gone. He looked back at his sons, Dean blinking in confusion while Sam looked around himself and back at John, unsure that what he saw was in fact who it should be.

"It's me," John assured him. "The dad you've always had. I'm guessing you thought you were talking to me before."

"I wasn't?" Sam asked, his voice finally finding its normal strength. "What...what the hell was that, Dad?!" Sam winced as his own shouting seemed to make his head pound more. He ground his palm into his temple, focusing on his dad once again. "What's going on? Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," John replied, kneeling down to first grab Sam's chin, checking the dilation of his pupils. "What's wrong with you? Did that thing get into your head?"

Sam snatched his chin away, immediately regretting the move, but he tried to keep the pain from showing on his face. "I'm fine," he seethed, more angry at himself now than anything else.

John turned to check on Dean. "You alright, Dean? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah I...I hear you, Dad," Dean said, looking over at Sammy now, suddenly remembering he had been behind him when he lost track of time. "Sammy?" Dean reached over to grab Sam's jacket, looking the boy over now for damage. "Are you ok? What the hell happened? Dad?" Dean asked, finally turning fully to John. "Why are you here?"

"That seems to be the million-dollar question tonight. What are _you_ boys doing here? I thought you were at home?"

"We were," Dean said. "We, uh, went out to eat."

"And we just pulled over for a while, is all," Sam finished, annoyed once again by John's demand to be told without telling anything himself.

John squinted as he looked from one son to the other. "You went to get something to eat and pulled over…" John looked around himself. "...here? Why?"

"We were just talking, Dad," Dean said defensively, trying to stand. John stood up to give them room and watched as Dean stood carefully and Sam seemed to stumble as he got right on his feet. Dean instantly reached out to steady him before stooping down to pick up the discarded shotgun. John took notice that the boys looked first at each other then Dean stood taller before his father while Sam averted his eyes angrily.

"Just out for a night's drive, huh?" John asked suspiciously.

"Yes, sir," Dean answered without offering any more details. Sam stayed silent, but nodded his agreement.

"Where's the car?" John probed.

"What?" Sam's head popped up at the question. The feeling that he was about to be interrogated grew warm around him.

"The car?" John repeated. "Where is it?"

Dean and Sam exchanged looks. The evidence of their recent activity was in a messy bundle on the floor of the Impala. There may have even been a container strewn here and there outside it as well. They hadn't prepared for anyone to see it just yet and there would be no chance to get back to it before Dad did.

"Uh huh. Let's go," John demanded, choosing not to wait for whatever answer they were concocting. "We need to get out of these woods. That thing can only be dispelled for a time with those flares. Not forever. I didn't come prepared to exorcise it tonight, but I also didn't come expecting to have to rescue you two. We don't need all this teen - and post-teen - melodrama stirring it up again."

"What?" Sam said for the third time. "What was it, Dad?" Sam demanded. "What do you mean by melodrama stirring it up?"

"Not now, Sam. Right now, we get out here. We can analyze it later."

"Dad!"

"Sammy, why don't you lead the way, huh?" Dean interrupted the coming tirade. "With those long legs of yours, you may even get there before us," he joked uncertainly, hoping Sam would get the hint to try to get ahead of them so he could scope out the scene and clean up whatever he could. "We aren't parked that far, Dad. But you must have driven too, right? Where's your truck?"

"Don't worry about that now," John dismissed brusquely, starting to walk and forcing his sons to finally start moving too. "I want to make sure you boys are safe first."

"Oh now, he worries about us," Sam muttered, trying to get in the lead. He picked his way around the lower branches that threatened to snag his hair or his jacket as he found his way back to the clearing that had led them to that part of the forest.

"What's that?" John asked, not sure he heard Sam correctly.

"Nothin'," Sam said.

"He said you don't have to worry about us, Dad. We got ourselves here. We can get ourselves home," Dean falsely translated.

John ignored him and kept following Sam who grudgingly pushed on. Dean stuffed one hand in his pocket as he balanced the shotgun on his shoulder, having no choice but to keep in step with the pair while he tried to divine a way to explain the mess that awaited them in the car. Maybe Dad would just make sure they got in and drove off. Yeah. That's it! He _had_ driven himself here and had to have parked somewhere. He'd want to just make sure he and Sam were safely on the road and then he would go back to wherever he had come from. Or at least Dean would help him see it that way.

It was then some unseen root seemed to rise up and cause Sam to stumble.

"You ok there, boy?" John asked. "Having a hard time staying on your feet?"

"No, I'm not, Dad. It's dark, ok? Not exactly unusual to stumble in the dark." Sam felt the pressure growing in his head and rubbed his forehead while he walked.

"I don't know a whole hell of a lot about those creatures, but I didn't think they usually leave people with headaches. Just a little confusion maybe."

"Everybody's different, Dad," Sam called irritatingly over his shoulder. "You can't possibly know how _everything_ impacts _everyone_."

"It was some kind of weird dream, Dad," Dean said. "It was so real. I wouldn't be surprised if some people got headaches from having something messing with their mind like that."

"I suppose," John curtly responded, resuming his silent surveillance of his sons. This thing _could_ have affected them in ways he couldn't have guessed. It's not like he had ever encountered one before. He'd feel better once they got through the night and he could really assess them in the light of day.

They walked a short distance in silence. It couldn't have been more than 10 minutes before Dean looked around, feeling something familiar about where they now stood. He looked over at Sam who had slowed, he too realizing they must be getting back to where they had started.

"I think we can take it from here, Dad," Dean tried.

John rolled his eyes. "If you think I'm going to let you wander off without seeing for myself that you're safe, then that thing squeezed your brain more than I thought, boy," he said. "Just get to the car, already."

It was only a few steps before the car's grill gleamed before them, catching and reflecting the occasional moonbeam off her silvery trim. Sam picked up his pace, spotting a stray can near her front passenger tire. He hurried to kick it away, coughing to cover the noise of the tin as it flew into the nearby woods. "We're here, Dad," he called out. "We're safe. Come on, Dean. Let's get out of here."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, hurrying past his father as he dug the car key from his pocket.

"Not so fast," John said, stopping Dean in his tracks just as he reached the driver's side door.

"You said you wanted to make sure we were safe, Dad," Sam said, glancing over at Dean who had frozen in place, waiting, only his eyes responding to what Sam had said. "We are. We'll get out of here, like you said."

"The truck's not that far from here. You can drop me off there," John said.

"What?" Dean asked as if he suddenly didn't understand.

"You deaf, boy? You can drop me off. I'll drive," John decided, taking the key from Dean's lax hand before he knew what was happening. It was Sam's turn to freeze in place, watching helplessly once again as his father tried to move Dean out of the way to get to the door, expecting Dean to just step back and get in the back seat.

"What are you doing, Dean? Move. I'm driving. You don't know where I parked," John started, opening the door as Dean took small, staggered steps backward.

"Dad, maybe I -"

"Dean! Move! Now!" John ordered, prompting Dean to take a bigger step away and simply watch as his father turned from annoyed to confused to fully aware of what his sons had been trying to keep from him.

Sam groaned, hand stuck on the handle of the door as he swiftly ran through the options in his mind - stay and take the heat or run. But he couldn't leave Dean to take the heat alone. Then again, if he ran, maybe his dad would be too worried about him for real to stay mad too long.

"What. The hell…," John peered into the car, then back at Dean who could only grin sheepishly. Then John looked over at Sam who at least had the decency to look panicky.

"Did you…?" John started, looking around, then back at Dean, the fury slowly building in his eyes as he laid a very careful hand on the center of his son's chest and slowly pushed him further away so he could climb fully into the front seat of the Impala.

There was a moment of silence. Sam and Dean exchanged another uneasy glance before a very quiet, "Get in," was uttered.

Sam cautiously opened his door, watching as Dean did the same. They released their gazes to finally face whatever awaited them inside the car.

Dean slid in behind his father, being mindful of the door's tendency to slam. Sam tried to quietly push one of the bottles out of the way with this foot, picking up a beer can that was left on the seat as he took his place, shutting the car door and staying as close to it as he could.

"You got room over there, son? I know there's a lot in your way."

"Yeah, uh, yes, sir," Sam replied, clearing his throat as he tried not to look back at his mute brother.

John nodded, looking back at Dean in the rearview mirror, the unspoken admonishment already chafing his elder boy. Reaching to put the key in the ignition, John quietly started the car and began to back her out of the clearing. His eyes closed briefly when he heard what sounded like a bottle breaking beneath his front driver's side tire. He sighed and braked, considering whether to get out and look or keep moving until he felt something off. He decided to look. Quietly, he climbed out of the car to assess the damage.

Dean sunk further in his seat and laid back as he waited, staring at the roof of the car. He wondered if this would be his view of the Impala for awhile. He could only hope to be so lucky.

(********)

"Hunting while intoxicated," Bobby mused. "Hunting while intoxicated?" he asked again, incredulously. "HWI?" He turned now asking no one in particular and everyone at the same time. He was still trying to shake off the drowsiness after being startled awake by the sounds of one irate father and what sounded like two defensive but repentant sons.

"What?" Dean asked in shock. "HWI? Is that a thing?" He thought he knew all of the things.

"It doesn't matter if it's a thing or not, Dean," John replied. "That's what you were doing!"

"No way, Dad!" Dean disagreed. "We weren't out there hunting. Sam saw something freaky and we just went to check it out! I swear!"

"With a loaded gun?" John yelled.

"The gun is _always_ loaded, Dad! We're hunters!" Dean reasoned back.

John steamed and glared at Dean before resuming his pacing of the living room floor, then stopping abruptly.

"I ran over a whiskey bottle, Dean. Did you give Sam whiskey?!"

"No, sir!" Dean said, raising his hands in defense.

"I took it, Dad. He didn't give it to me," Sam explained.

"Dude! You're not helping!" Dean quickly argued, casting daggers at Sam.

"Oh," Sam said quietly, lowering his head. "Um, sorry."

Bobby could only shut his eyes and shake his head, his anger at the boys tempered by his reluctance to see John go off on them while he was still so mad about everything.

Sam winced, bothered by the nagging headache that grew as the volume of the voices grew.

"What's wrong with you, boy?" Bobby asked. "You got a headache? Though it serves you right if you tied one on as hard as it sounds."

"I'll be alright, Uncle Bobby," Sam assured him, rubbing his temples.

"No, no you won't, son," John corrected him. Sam's eyes saddened at the thought that the pain he felt now was only the beginning of the dues he owed for the fun he and Dean had had that night. He wasn't so sure he regretted it - not all of it, anyway. Maybe just the headache part.

Bobby sighed. "Come on then, ya idjit. May as well whip up my hangover cure for you now so you can have the night to sleep it off."

"What?" John squawked. "Why? Let him suffer!"

"You're gonna want the boy to be erect before you beat him down, John," Bobby replied patiently.

"Am I?" John replied rhetorically, fuming as he started to pick up the the living room pacing again, running right into Dean who had tried to make himself at least a little invisible.

"Sorry! Sorry, Dad," he rushed, apologizing for the brief roadblock as well as the actions that had brought them to this place.

"You smell like onions, boy," John said. "It's nearly midnight. Brush your teeth and get to bed. We'll deal with this in the morning."

"Uh, yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Looking quickly from John to Bobby, he could see they were waiting for him to comply.

"Good night, Dad. Good night, Uncle Bobby. I'm really sorry."

"Oh you will be, Dean," John promised. "You both will be."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I got to busy to post yesterday, today I give you two chapters, although this one is the shortest of all. :-)

"I'm gonna kill 'em."

"Calm down, John," Bobby said wearily the next morning, shoving a plate of food in front of John and sitting down to join him with his own plate of bacon and eggs. It had been the middle of the night when the Winchester storm blew back over his house and it had taken a little while to get the hangover concoction to stay in Sam's system long enough to be truly effective. The boy took one whiff and managed to make it to the sink just in time. That had been a fun mess to clean up. That boy better be glad Bobby loved him like he was his own.

But eventually the storm died down long enough for everyone to get a few hours of sleep - emphasis on the word few - and Bobby now found himself back downstairs trying to soothe the rage slowly rebuilding in John this morning.

"Calm down? Seriously? There were bottles and cans everywhere, Bobby! It was rattling like someone just got married! Lord knows just how much of that Sam had." John picked at his plate, his head suddenly popping up. "That means either Dean was driving drunk or he was _gonna_ drive drunk. Either way, I'll kill 'em!"

"They're safe now, John," Bobby intoned. He understood John's anger. He had a bit of his own he was nursing, but those boys couldn't afford to have him get on John's bandwagon or they would truly be in for a world of hurt.

"Safe," John scoffed. "If I hadn't been out there -"

"What _were_ you doing out there?" Bobby asked curiously.

John took a bite of his bacon and crammed eggs in his mouth behind it, chewing thoughtfully before he looked at Bobby. "Hunting," he replied shortly.

"Yeah, I got that part, Hemingway. Wanna jump to the end of the story?" Bobby asked impatiently.

John sighed, getting up to refill the coffee cup he had drained earlier when he first came downstairs to find some caffeine. Motioning with the pot, he got Bobby's nod that he also wanted a refill. John filled both men's cups, placing the pot on the table between them before he resumed speaking.

"I was looking for the Iktomi."

"You what," Bobby gasped, nearly choking on his eggs. "What in the hell you wanna do that for?"

"If I hadn't been out there, Bobby, that thing might have gotten the boys," John said. "I don't know for sure what the hell they were seeing, well, I think Sam was talking to it like he was seeing me. All's I know is it was like they were both in a trance gettin' closer to that thing. I couldn't take a chance, Bobby."

Bobby took a sip of his coffee, nodding like he understood. "So what you're saying is you were scared you were going to lose them."

"What?" John looked at Bobby in confusion. "Of course I was scared of losing them, Bobby! I don't know what that thing would have done!"

"John, you really think I didn't know we had an Iktomi in our woods? That's an Indian spirit, about as original as they come." Bobby leaned in, seeing that he had John's attention. "It's a trickster, John, _and_ a shapeshifter, and it will take some powerful mojo to expel it from these woods. The best you can hope for is to scare it off for a good long time."

"Well, I had some special flares that lit up real good. All that darkness can't fight extreme light," John said, satisfied he could do that much.

Bobby shook his head. "You didn't need to go messing with that thing, John. What on Earth possessed you to go looking in the first place? Is that where you ran off to?"

John grabbed his coffee cup and sat back in his chair, spinning the coffee like he was looking for his fortune in tea leaves. "You're here, Bobby," he said, continuing to stare into his cup. "And the boys are with you a good amount of the time. I couldn't take the risk that one of them might run into that creature, so close to home."

At that, Bobby sat back and chuckled. "You think of this as home?"

John cast a glance up at Bobby and chuckled to himself as well. "I guess so, old man. You got a problem with that?"

"Well, if I did, it's too late to grouse about it now, now ain't it?" Bobby shrugged, pointing at John's plate. "Eat your food. It's getting cold."

John smiled and nodded. The two men went back to eating their food in quiet, but they could both hear the wheels turning in each other's brains.

"What ya thinking about Sam and Dean?" Bobby asked cautiously. John was the boys' father so he'd defer to whatever he wanted to do to rectify this little situation, though he did have some ideas of his own.

"Yeah, Dad, what were you thinking?" Dean chimed in, startling the two men at the table.

John's face became impassive as soon as he looked over at Dean. "Where's your brother?" he asked, ignoring Dean's question.

"I'm here," Sam replied softly, stepping up behind Dean and rubbing his arms nervously like he was cold.

"Good. Get dressed and hit the pavement," John ordered. Bobby got up and began clearing away the breakfast dishes.

"What?" Dean asked, a little surprised his dad would send a still slightly hungover Sammy out to run so soon. Then again, that would likely be why he was sending him out - to help finish clearing his head for what was to come. Still, Dean had to at least try to get them out of this.

"Dad, we're still a little beat -"

"That really what you want to say to me right now, son? Are you trying to make things worse for yourself?"

"No," Sam said, pulling on Dean's arm. "No, sir. How far, sir?" Sam asked, giving Dean a pleading look as he spoke. Dean understood that Sam just wanted to take his punishment and get it over with. It was a very Dean thing to do. He nodded, proud of his brother for taking it like a man.

"Two miles will do for this morning. Don't want to wear you out before I have a chance to wear you out," John said, enjoying the grimace he got from both boys as they heard the underlying promise of what was surely going to go down soon.

"Yes, sir," Dean said. "Come on, Sammy." The two hurried up the steps, as fast as Sam's head would allow, to get ready to go.

Bobby had stood cross-legged and cross-armed at the sink watching the exchange. "What now?" he asked.

"Now, I go get cleaned up, then I go get the car cleaned up," John decided. "Gotta see just how much damage those two may have done before I decide how much I intend to do in return."

"John," Bobby started, but John had already gotten up to head upstairs too. Bobby sighed. He was grateful that at least John seemed calmer than he had just a short while ago. Of course, Bobby wasn't 100% thrilled with the boys' behavior either, so he couldn't make any promises, but maybe those idjits had a chance of surviving this after all.

(********)

After a fairly long shower, a rare luxury, John got dressed and headed downstairs. No Bobby. No boys. He had told his sons to take a two-mile run. If they were smart, they'd get back as soon as they could to get this over with. If they were procrastinators, they'd take their sweet time to save their hides for as long as possible - without taking so long that John got pissed about the wait. Knowing how fast they both had the capability of running in sickness and in health, and knowing Sam was still working off a hangover, John decided they likely opted for door number 2. That was fine by him. More time to prepare.

John went outside and checked again for the boys. Still nowhere in sight. So he focused on the car. At some point, they were going to have to take him back to pick up Bobby's truck, which he had procured without permission. He was waiting for Bobby to tear him a new one for taking that liberty, but he wasn't going to be the first one to mention it.

Walking over to the driver's side, he crouched down to look at the tire. No apparent damage despite rolling over that bottle. Good thing he'd gotten heavy-duty tires to minimize the chances for inconvenient flats. Looking over the rest of the car, everything looked good. He was glad he'd let that strange, well, stranger in the leather jacket talk him into buying it over 20 years ago. Mary hadn't immediately seen the value in it, but she grew to appreciate it the first time John escaped unharmed in a car accident caused by some drunken idiot.

John frowned remembering that. That could have been Dean causing an accident like that. He could have hurt himself, someone else, Sammy, any number of scenarios. "I shouldn't have to still be talking about that at your age, Dean," he mumbled to himself.

Taking a deep breath, John opened the driver's side door. He slid in and willed himself to look around. There was the remainder of a six-pack of hard lemonade on the seat. One bottle was left. Beer cans littered the floor. Banging the back of his head three times on the car seat in frustration, John took a deep breath then looked back at the seat. He snatched the last hard lemonade, popped the top and took a sip before closing his eyes. He knew boys would be boys. He couldn't even fault Dean for wanting to share something like this with his brother who was going to be 18 soon, but...what? Sam was still too young? John had shared drinks with Dean at the same age. Boys Sam's age got into stuff like this and worse. At least Sam was a smart kid who didn't usually go looking for trouble. Usually he steered clear, unless his brother was involved then suddenly the two of them shared one brain.

But John couldn't excuse these antics either. He was a boy once. He understood. But drinking underage is still illegal and could get _them_ in trouble, John, even Bobby who already had enough troubles of his own with the locals. Especially the sheriff who seemed to have it out for him. And Dean likely thought drinking with his brother would be no big deal as long as they weren't in a bar or around other people or drinking anything too hard, thus the beer. But that _was_ a whiskey bottle he ran over last night. He knew one when he saw one and neither Sam nor Dean needed to be ingesting that before getting behind the wheel. Maybe he thought he could handle it. Surely he didn't anticipate running into a hunt last night. Just too much chance taking for John's liking and he wasn't going to let them forget how displeased he was with that.

A bang on the passenger window made John jump. Bobby was smirking at him. John pushed his already open door further open so he could climb out. "Taking a break already," Bobby asked over the roof of the car, nodding at the bottle. "May not want too much of that before dealing with those sons of yours."

"I only took a sip. I'll dump the rest," John promised, noticing something in the back seat. He perched the bottle on the roof of the car and stepped over to open the back door. Trash.

"The boys said they went out to eat last night," he said to Bobby, pointing inside the car.

Bobby bent down to peer inside. He chuckled. "Hot dogs. Food of choice when you don't want to drink on an empty stomach," he said.

Huffing again, John closed the door, then snatched the bottle off the top of the car and poured the drink out on the ground, leaving the empty on the roof. "I'll let them clean this mess up."

"Good call," Bobby agreed. "Next call?" he said, walking over to John's side of the car and leaning on the hood. "What to do with them."

John rubbed his chin. "I'd have my hands full taking care of both of them, Bobby."

"Uh huh," Bobby agreed. "I suppose you would. Could wear a fella out."

"But I do need to deal with both of them," John continued thinking out loud.

"That you do," Bobby agreed again.

"But you know," John said, really looking at Bobby now. "I'm not the only one they essentially disobeyed."

"I know it," Bobby said. "But you're their daddy and I didn't want to step on any toes."

"Not like this would be the first time you've punished either one of them, Bobby," John replied.

"I know that too, but that's because when that happens, it's because you aren't here to be the one to do it."

"They have to respect us both," John decided. "I don't care how old they get. As long as they spend any amount of time in your house, your rules are your rules."

"Agreed," Bobby "Glad you see it that way." The two men fell silent as they pondered where that left them.

"We do this together?" John asked, holding out his fist. "What do you say?"

At that point, Sam and Dean came running up to them, Sam huffing harder than usual.

"I think you may have an idea there," Bobby said, not acknowledging the two newest members of their little think tank. Holding out his fist, he nodded.

Sam and Dean looked at each other in confusion, Sam still trying to catch his breath. "Wha...What's going on?" Sam breathed.

"Winner gets Sam -"

"Hey!" Dean exclaimed, personally affronted by the implication.

"— first," John finished, taking a quick moment to glare at Dean who promptly shut his mouth. John wasn't deterred.

"What's happening?" Sam whispered to Dean, glancing over at the raised fists of the two older hunters.

"What you talkin' 'bout, Dad?" Dean asked, afraid he knew.

Bobby understood. It looked like Christmas had come early and they were going to do a Yankee Swap. He and John silently agreed on their next move, shaking their fists in the air, leaving Sam and Dean to look worriedly at each other while trying to keep an eye on their father and uncle because it was finally dawning on them what was about to happen, but it seemed like it might not go down the way they were expecting.

"Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!" Bobby and John sang out.

Sam and Dean just watched and groaned.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is a super long chapter because I didn't want to disrupt the flow for you. Please bear with me! :-)

"I never understood how paper beats rock," John lamented, heading toward the trunk of his car. "I mean a piece of paper is no defense against a rock!"

"I don't make the rules, Winchester," Bobby snorted in response while their current subjects of torture awaited instructions.

"Alright then, go on to your room, Dean," John ordered while rooting around in the truck. "I'll be there in a minute."

Dean looked at Sam. They both knew what was in the trunk. Neither of them had seen it for a little while, but they'd both be intimately reacquainted with it soon enough.

"Yes, sir," Dean responded with much less of his usual confidence.

"Let's get this done, huh Sam?" Bobby suggested, pointing toward the front door.

"Um, yes, sir," Sam said, lowering his head as he followed Dean inside the home.

Watching the dead boys walking, Bobby just sighed, not exactly dying to do what he knew needed to be done. He stalled a moment longer to see what John was up to. "What are you doing there, Winchester?" he asked.

"Getting my, uh, helper," John replied.

"Uh huh," Bobby responded. "I had to ask," he mumbled to himself, finally going inside to handle the matter at hand.

"There you are," John said aloud. He hadn't needed his helper in some time, so it had gotten a bit buried in the trunk of the car, but there it was. Testing it on his hand, it was as strong as ever. John would normally use his belt, hand or whatever other implement was available when discipline of the corporal nature was called for. He'd save his helper for the major offenses. This counted as one.

Slamming the trunk, he headed inside, passing the living room on his way upstairs to Dean and not bothering to pay attention to what Bobby and Sam were up to. He'd know that soon enough. The whole house would likely know.

Bobby noticed John passing by in his peripheral vision, but he was focused on Sam who sat long-faced and perched on the arm of the sofa waiting for his punishment. "You know, kid, you probably wouldn't have been getting this from both sides, but you did do this on _my_ watch, so…"

"I understand, Uncle Bobby. I'm sorry I, um, lied?"

"More like performed an illegal activity, son."

"Oh," Sam said sadly. "Right."

"You _are_ underage and you're smart enough to know you shouldn't have been doing this. You're also old enough to say no to your brother when he wants to get you into something you know is wrong for you to do."

"Yes, sir," Sam responded humbly.

"And the hunting, Sam…"

"That's not my fault!" Sam defended. "It's not Dean's fault either! We thought we heard something. We just wanted to check it out in case it was something that could come back here and hurt you!"

Bobby couldn't help but take pity on the boy. "I do appreciate that, son. Maybe you would have been thinking a little differently without the alcohol, but I believe your intentions were honorable. If only that could be enough to keep you and Dean from accidentally getting your fool selves killed, huh?"

Sam could do nothing but sigh and listen.

"I suppose it must feel like being tried twice for the same crime," Bobby tried to soothe. "You were tried, found guilty, sentenced, then you made an appeal." Bobby paused, catching Sam's eye. "And lost."

Sam just nodded. "So which court are you?" he asked out of honest curiosity.

"Appeals, of course," Bobby answered with a cocky grin.

"Of course," Sam agreed.

"And as the appeals court, I find you guilty of _unintentional_ stupidity. That lightens your punishment somewhat, but sorry it couldn't be a total reprieve."

Sam could see Bobby was trying to make this a little easier on him, but it was only delaying the inevitable. "You know, Uncle Bobby, Dad is going to be done with Dean before you know it and I'd rather him not come down here and see me...like this, you know?" It was bad enough knowing they were going to be overhearing each other's punishment - twice.

"I hear you, son. Let's get on with it, then," Bobby said.

"Where?" Sam asked, looking around the room. He was hoping Bobby wouldn't say over his knee. Surely he was too big for that.

"I'd say you're good where you are - the arm of the sofa," Bobby answered, pointing to where Sam sat.

"Oh," Sam said, looking down. "OK." He stood up, looking momentarily lost. Then he rubbed his neck sheepishly as he spoke once again. "Um," he said shyly, "on the bare?"

"No, Sam. I'll leave that between you and your daddy. Over you go, now," Bobby ordered gently, heading for his desk drawer to retrieve what he needed to get the job done.

He didn't have many things saved from his long-lost wife, Karen. He didn't see a need to hold on to her clothes or very much of her jewelry. Just her wedding rings and a treasured necklace from her grandmother. But one of the things he always loved was to watch her brush her hair before going to bed. She'd sit on the bed, brushing her long, blonde locks and talking to him, dreaming about their future, which always included kids. He'd nod and smile and never tell her his fears about becoming a father and repeating the behavior of his own father. Until one night he did tell her. And she hated him for it. Hated him for taking away the dream she thought she shared with him. And he regretted killing that light inside her, even more never getting the chance to reignite that it before she was snuffed out for good.

That hairbrush represented the future they never got to reclaim, damn monsters. She never got to be the mom she yearned to be with the man she loved. But, thanks to John bringing his motherless children into his life, Bobby would get the chance to experience a bit of what it was like to be a father - even if he was a surrogate one - and using Karen's brush seemed fitting somehow.

The sound of leather on flesh from the bedroom above snapped Bobby back to the present. He tried not to focus on what must have been going on with the older boy upstairs as he stepped over to the younger boy waiting for him now. "You ready, Sam?" he asked, stalling for the third time.

"Never," Sam said dully, without any hint of amusement. Bobby wouldn't drag it out any further.

The brush connected with Sam's ass just short of all the power Bobby had to swing it. He wanted this to count and he wanted it to be memorable so Sam would hopefully never force his hand like this again, but he did not want to hurt the boy.

Sam grunted and dug his nails into the sofa arm, realizing that even with his pants on, this was not going to be easy.

"I don't see a need to lecture, Sam," Bobby said. "You know what the offense is and I'm hoping this is the last time we have to do this." The brush fell down on one cheek again, causing Sam to flinch.

"I know," Sam replied in as steady a voice as he could offer. "I'm sorry. I am." Sam closed his eyes and tried to hold still. With Bobby's last sentence, he knew the older hunter would start to wail on him in order to drive the point home, then be done.

Bobby did not disappoint.

Sam felt the back of the heavy wooden brush come crashing down on one side of his increasingly stinging cheeks, then the other. Bobby dosed the discipline equally on both sides for a while, spreading the burn of the brush generously over Sam's small posterior. All Sam could do was shut his eyes as tight as he could, trying to ignore the sounds of his big brother getting his ass handed to him upstairs, albeit somewhat quietly, which was impressive. Sam removed himself mentally as much as he could from his own pain. But it was difficult to not feel it - the pain he was experiencing and the pain Dean was surely experiencing as well.

Bobby found his rhythm quickly, and held Sam down as he swung the brush and landed on the center of Sam's butt. He spanked lower, trying to cover the boy's sore rear. Sometimes he gave two smacks in row. Sometimes he alternated.

Sam didn't bother to count the licks because Bobby rarely said how many he was giving anyway. You just had to hope you had the stamina to outlast his arm and Bobby's arm was stronger than you'd think. Without a number to count, all Sam could do was concentrate on not losing his shit. But that rarely worked either. He didn't quite have his brother's stamina yet.

Whack after whack sounded through the living room and Sam was done trying to keep his peace. His breaths began to get ragged, then he opened his mouth, huffing as the brush turned up the heat a little more, then a little more. He hadn't bothered trying to stop the tears from falling. He just didn't want to cry out loud if he could help it.

He couldn't help it.

There were more strokes than he could silently tolerate. Sam only needed to think about the fact that his dad would be delivering his own chastisement soon enough and that was all it took to break his resolve.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Bobby," he finally cried. "I swear this won't happen again. Please!" Sam couldn't stop the endless sniffling. "Dad is going to finish me for sure! Please, Uncle Bobby. Can we stop? Please? I can't take anymore!"

At that, Bobby did stop. He knew John would probably not go easy on the boy, so may as well give him a moment's reprieve while he could. "Ok, Sam, OK. Take it easy, son," Bobby said calmly, rubbing his hand on Sam's back while he laid the brush back on the desk.

Sam's cries grew heavier, mainly from the relief Bobby had awarded him. He released the arm of the sofa and let his body collapse where he was. He couldn't face his uncle just yet, but he did take comfort in the feel of Bobby's hand tenderly rubbing his back.

"It's going to be ok, kid," Bobby said in a hushed tone, moving to sit on the sofa next to Sam while he continued to pat his back. "I know it isn't easy for you and I know you are just trying to do what kids your age do. It's normal."

"I'm not _normal,_ Uncle Bobby," Sam mumbled into the arm of the sofa. He looked up, rubbing the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. "Didn't you know? Dad said we're not like other kids."

Bobby couldn't help but smile. Was the kid actually pouting? "Samuel Winchester," he said. "Hell naw you're not like other kids."

Sam looked baffled by the man's comment and stood up fully, wincing and wiping his nose on his sleeve as Bobby continued. "Boy, you've seen things and done things that would give other kids your age nightmares. You are helping people who don't even know they need to be helped. Not many people can say that. Sure, it's a thankless job, but it's not without its rewards."

"What rewards, Uncle Bobby? All I hear is how I can't do what Dad and Dean do because they need me to stay back and do the stupid research. I don't even get to be on the hunts most times! They don't need me here."

"That ain't quite true, son. Your daddy loves you. He loves both of you and he wants what he thinks is best for you both. But Sam," Bobby said to get the boy's attention, "that shouldn't stop you from doing what's best for _you._ "

Sam looked at Bobby, uncertain what to say. He wasn't sure exactly how much Bobby knew about what had brought them to South Dakota in the first place to take this little time out, but he was glad he had Bobby on his side. "Thanks, Uncle Bobby," Sam said shyly, smiling despite the sore butt he was nursing. "And thanks for letting up on me when I cried uncle. Are you going to do the same for Dean? He wasn't trying to get me drunk. I swear. He told me to take it easy."

"Don't you worry about your brother none," Bobby said as Dean appeared, moving slower than Sam was comfortable witnessing. "I think it's time you went on upstairs to finish out your sentence."

(********)

**[MEANWHILE, UPSTAIRS]**

With two butts to whack, John didn't want to waste any time. Paying no heed to Sam and Bobby, he walked up the stairs on a mission and strolled through the boys' bedroom door like he was in the middle of a conversation. "Ass to air and across the bed, boy. Now."

"OK, wait. Wait!" Dean chuckled anxiously. "Can't we talk about this, Dad?" Dean had thought he might be able to charm his dad into taking it easier on him once he explained himself. But the man walked in and shut the door like he didn't want his prisoner to escape. Now Dean found himself literally backing into a corner as he tried to put distance between him and that black leather nuisance.

It was a mean looking thing - ten inches of matte black leather strap, nearly 3 inches wide, looped and fastened to an equally black handle that was decoratively outlined with white stitches. Two silver grommets secured the loop to the handle so it was taut yet flexible enough to deliver a proper sting. When Dad brought out his helper, he wasn't in a negotiating mood.

"What's there to talk about, Dean? How you got your underage brother drunk?" John started to list.

"Not on purpose!" Dean argued. "He was supposed to start with the the beer and THEN maybe try a little of the harder stuff. I was taking it slow!"

"Being out in those woods with a loaded gun while loaded yourself?" John added without reply.

"I had to protect, Sammy! You always say that's my job," Dean explained.

"And how exactly were you going to get home, Dean? Drive?" John asked rhetorically. "Oh wait. I know. Maybe, instead of driving, you'd stay out all night to avoid anyone seeing you drunk and you could say you _accidentally_ fell asleep, leaving Bobby to go out looking for you instead?" Dean looked shocked at John's apparent clairvoyance. John didn't really need to hear Dean's answer. He knew how the boy's mind worked.

"Uhh, well, that was, uh, never my intention," Dean stammered.

"The road to hell, Dean," John scolded. "Let's get on with this."

"Dad, listen," Dean pleaded. "I just wanted to give the kid a break. Celebrate his future freedom in college, maybe make him feel like the adult he's going to be in a few months. Hang with my brother, that's all. I swear."

"You endangered both your lives, Dean," John replied impatiently, "at the minimum! If you _had_ driven yourselves home, you could also have risked the lives of innocent people. And don't get me started on being out in those woods with that gun. Either one of you could have gotten hurt. Drinking doesn't make anyone a better shot, Dean," John finished.

"No, sir," Dean conceded. "I guess I wasn't really thinking about that."

John sighed. He knew Dean didn't set out to hurt his brother; that he'd sooner hurt himself. But he did need him to fully consider the possible consequences of his so-called innocent actions because one day it would be just him and Sam, and he needed to know Dean was up to the task of keeping his brother safe.

"I guess you weren't," John agreed. "Enough talking now. Assume the position."

Dean watched his dad's hand tightly gripping the handle of the strap and decided there was no sense making things any worse for himself or - accidentally - for Sam, if he kept talking.

"Yes, sir," he conceded, walking toward the bed as he unfastened his jeans. Quickly he shoved his pants and boxers down his thighs and lowered himself onto the bed, inching up on his elbows until he was in the middle, then lowering his head in the circle created by his arms and clasped hands. Closing his eyes, he waited anxiously for the first blow. That strappy device of his dad's had a wicked sting.

John saw no further reason to talk about Dean's discretions. He was pretty sure he had been forthright and all he needed to do was make it abundantly clear how he felt about the whole situation.

"22, Dean. Count," John ordered before quickly laying the first stripe to test the amount of power he wanted to put behind it.

Wincing at the bite of the leather, Dean lowered his head further onto the bed, teeth worrying his lower lip to help him bear the pain.

"One," he gasped.

John laid another across his son's reddening ass and soon the blows were steadily falling.

Dean tightened his legs in an effort not to move and incur his dad's additional punishment for leaving position. The sound of the strap echoed in the quiet room. John knew Dean was going to try to take his whipping as quietly as possible and this time, John would not try to pull a cry from him. He knew Dean had another spanking coming and that would likely be the straw that broke Dean's reserve. He only needed to get his point across this time around.

At ten strokes, Dean wasn't so sure he'd last, so he bit his lip as hard as he could without drawing blood. He tried to concentrate on counting and tightening the muscles in his legs. He squeezed the fingers of his clasped hands, breathing in when his dad's arm was raised, and breathing out with each hard smack of the strap, adding the latest count out loud.

It was a bit of a workout for John to deliver 22 strikes, but for Dean's sake, he wanted to get it done as quickly as possible. The blows landed on alternate cheeks. John brought the leather down on the undercurve of his son's glowing butt, then his upper thighs before working his way back up again, first one side, then the other.

Dean couldn't help but clench his heated cheeks, his head now buried under the clasped fingers of his hands as he tried to escape the pain as well as the sounds of his disciplined little brother. When he counted out the 15th strike, Dean knew he could get through but not without some tears. There would just be no way to concentrate on breathing through the pain of the strap in order to not cry out while simultaneously concentrating on holding back tears. So they fell freely as the 16th lash fell, but Dean continued to focus on breathing through it all. The blows to his butt he could take easily enough, but the ones to his thighs were the ones that caused the most tears. Thankfully, today his dad seemed in a lenient mood.

"We're almost done, son," John informed him with sympathy, letting up only long enough to tell this to Dean. Still, he paused further as he heard the cries of his younger son downstairs, but shook it off to quickly dole out the remaining six strikes on the bare ass before him. John put even more power behind the last two blows, wanting them to be memorable, and huffed when he was done, stepping back from the bed to give Dean space.

"OK, Dean. We're good now, son," John said gently, watching the boy's shoulders finally relax as he remained prostrate and sniffing a while longer. Stepping over to the bedroom window to give Dean privacy, John looked out, seeing the woods where they had been the previous night in the near distance. He couldn't help but think about how easily he could have lost both his sons had he not gotten to them just in time. He could hope this Iktomi wasn't the vindictive kind, but there were no witnesses who could attest to it. There would have been no way to know what kind it was until it was probably too late.

"I'm done, Dad," John heard behind him along with the fastening clink of Dean's belt buckle. He wanted to banish his morbid thoughts, but turning to look at Dean now, his tear-stained face refusing to meet John's - it only served to reinforce the fear John had at losing either of the children he was trying so hard to protect, whether to some Indian spirit, a stupid accident, even a college too many miles away.

He and Dean always teased Sammy for the puppy dog eyes he gave whenever he wanted to have his way, but a chastised Dean had the uncanny ability to look just like the innocent 4-year-old John had swooped up from the lawn of his burning home that fateful night. His anger had no hope of continuing to burn after that and he couldn't help stepping back over now to clasp Dean's face between his palms.

"We won't need to do this again, right son?" he asked quietly as he looked intently into his son's eyes.

"No, sir," Dean replied, quickly wiping the tears from his face as though they stung him. "I'm sorry I didn't fully think about the consequences of my actions. It won't happen again, sir."

John looked shyly to the floor and smiled. He hated embarrassing his boy, but he was proud of him for maintaining his dignity and withstanding the painful punishment. He drew Dean to him, hugging him like that 4-year-old he could never stop seeing, and kissed him in his hair. "Good boy. Go now. Send your brother up here so we can all get on to better things."

Dean licked his lips as he pulled back and nodded. "Yes, sir." Wincing as he walked, Dean was determined not to look bothered, but John could see the careful walk and momentarily felt sorry to have been the cause of his son's distress, but that was a fleeting moment. He needed to get his game face back on. Son #2 would be on his way soon and this one would not be a quick lesson, he was sure.

(********)

"Are you ok, Dean?" Sam asked, fraught with concern.

"Never better," Dean replied, grimacing as he descended the rest of the stairs. Plastering a smile on his face, he wiggled his eyebrows at Sam to assure the boy he had survived and Sam would too.

Looking over at Bobby, Sam chewed his lip nervously.

"Go on, son," Bobby patiently urged him. "You face your licks and maybe we can have some sundaes later."

"Really?" Sam asked brightly.

"We'll see," Bobby promised. "Git, now."

Sam carefully uncurled his leg and stood up slowly.

"What are you?" Dean teased. "An old man? Uh, no offense, Bobby," he added, looking apologetically at the older man.

"For what? I ain't old," he answered defensively.

"You aren't exactly walking tall yourself, Dean," Sam remarked. "Looks like you're limping."

"Naw, naw. Just taking my time, that's all," Dean lied. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"It's not you I'm worried about, now," Sam murmured, looking wistfully up the stairs. He wasn't so sure his dad wasn't just mad about the drinking and the incident in the woods. He and his dad had yet to talk about what Sam had said before they came to South Dakota. Now he worried that some of this punishment could be Dad's way of trying to get him to obey his yet unspoken demand that Sam stop being foolish and forget about leaving home.

"It's ok, Sammy," Dean assured his brother, knowing his and his dad's unresolved issue was weighing on Sam now. "Just make him listen. He can, you know. You just gotta be calm about it, dude."

Sam looked back at his brother, considering his words, then sighed as he started up the stairs.

"May not be the ideal way to have a discussion," Bobby said, standing up at last, "but I'm glad those two are getting a chance to finally hash this out." He looked over at Dean who couldn't seem to stand quite as tall as he normally did. "What about you?" he inquired. "You two get things sorted?"

"Dad certainly got his point across, if that's what you mean," Dean answered.

"So you ready for more?" Bobby asked.

Dean looked hesitant. "I, uh, I guess so, Uncle Bobby. But, um, do I hafta…" He motioned up and down, pointing to his jeans.

Bobby chuckled. "Something tells me you got your fill of that already."

"Yeah. Dad didn't spare the rod, I assure you. I just don't know if I can take another on the bare quite so soon."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that, son. I think we can handle this without going au natural, huh?"

Dean smiled gratefully. "Thanks." He ran a hand over his hair before looking back at Bobby. "You know, I really did learn my lesson. I swear. You don't have to worry about me doing this again any time soon."

"You mean _ever again,_ don't you, son?" Bobby asked, trying to helpfully lead the middle Winchester to say what his dad would want to hear.

"Ever again, yeah," Dean corrected himself. "I won't be doing this ever again."

"Umm hmm, " Bobby hummed, knowing better than to be duped by the false promises. "Boys will be boys" never applied to two young'uns more than it did to these two. Bobby wasn't so naive as to think Sam and Dean would never drink again - together or apart - but maybe next time they'll be smarter about it. And hopefully they wouldn't do it on his watch again.

"I think maybe you better get on over there before your mouth gets you into trouble your ass can't get you out of," Bobby warned, pointing to the arm of the couch while heading back to the desk to retrieve the waiting wooden brush.

Dean grimaced again as he started toward the couch "Yeah, ok, Uncle Bobby."

"I've got ya, son. We are gonna get through this," Bobby said patting the boy on the back as he passed.

Dean looked taken aback. "We?"


	7. Chapter 7

Sam hesitated at the top of the stairs. The door to his and Dean's room was open. He couldn't hear his dad, but he knew he was waiting inside. He looked back downstairs, noticing the quiet coming from there too. He never usually wished Dean any kind of harm, but right about now Sam wished he could hear something, anything coming from there to help give him the momentum to go into that bedroom.

He listened a moment longer, his ears working double time to hear if anything was happening between Bobby and his brother or if his Dad would at least stir in that room. It was feeling a little like a hunt right now and he was on guard for either signs of life or something jumping out at him.

"Sammy? Quit stalling out there, son. Come on in here."

There it was.

Sam took a deep breath and went in through the slightly open door. "Come in, son. Close the door behind you."

Stepping cautiously inside the room, Sam saw his Dad had dragged the desk chair over by the window and was sitting backward in it, looking out at what Sam guessed must have been the less-than-picturesque view of discarded cars in various states of disrepair.

John looked back at Sam as he entered the room. The worried boy grabbed the doorknob to slowly push it closed with his body and was leaning on it with all his weight as he stood there making shy eye contact with his father.

At the moment, he was fearful about having to endure another spanking, but of also having to fight with his dad about what was said back in the motel. Without Dean there to intercede, would they kill each other?

John's arms were extended and braced on the back of the chair, his helper hanging from one hand, his other hand resting on top of it. Sam couldn't help but look at it apprehensively.

"You ok, son?" John asked sincerely.

Sam looked back at his Dad, noting the concern on his face and thought maybe he could do this after all. Maybe they could clear the air.

"Yes, sir. I'm fine," he replied.

"How's the pain?" John queried. "I, um, could hear you a little down there."

Sam grew a shade pinker at the question. "Not too bad. He let me keep my jeans," Sam explained.

John huffed a smile. "That was good of him. Should help," John said, getting up to turn and place the strap on the desk before sitting back down in the chair. He leaned forward on both elbows, watching his hands a moment before looking back at Sam.

"I know you might be worried I'm still angry with you," he started. "Maybe thinking I'll take that anger out on you now."

Sam gave a small nod.

"I wouldn't do that, son. You should know that by now," John said.

Sam did not give a hint of acknowledgement. He continued to give John a troubled look.

John sighed and sat back, one palm resting on his thigh as he studied his distressed son. Right now Sam was a scared boy and it was hard to imagine that he was old enough for them to be having this college discussion in the first place. John just didn't know if he could talk about it. Not now.

"I was just saying I was thinking about it," Sam said quietly.

John gave the boy a quizzical look. "Excuse me?"

"College," Sam answered. "I- I was just letting you know I was thinking about it. I don't know if I would go or anything. I don't know if they would even accept me. I just wanted to tell you I had been thinking."

John nodded. "Of course they would accept you, Sam." John thought a bit before resuming. "There's nothing wrong with dreams, boy. You should have 'em. It's just...dangerous. For both of you and I don't want anything to happen to you."

"It won't, Dad," Sam replied, standing on his own power now. "Don't you think I've learned something about how to take care of myself from you and Dean?"

"Of course you have," John answered. "It's not you I don't trust. It's what's out there," he said, pointing out the bedroom window. He shook his head and rose from the chair. It was clear Sam would never really understand his motivations. "Son, the big, bad scary world other parents warn their children about...you _know_ how scary it really is-"

"But that can't stop me from living my life, Dad," Sam interjected.

"Sam, I don't want you to not live your life," John replied a little louder. He didn't want to yell. He had to calm down. He closed his eyes and breathed before looking at Sam again. "I want you to have a life, Sam," he continued quietly. "I just don't know if now is the time for this."

Sam furrowed his brows. He could feel the anger starting to stir again, but there was also the disappointment of hearing his dad basically tell him he couldn't go to school if he wanted. He looked down at the floor wrestling with the anger mixed with sadness that threatened to make him cry before his dad even put a hand on him. "I can handle it," Sam whispered to the floor. "You have to let me try."

John just looked at his son. This could turn into something ugly and he just wanted to move on. "Sam?" he called. "Sammy, look at me."

Sam glanced up, still trying to control his emotions before facing his dad fully.

"Let's not do this now, ok?" John requested.

But Sam shook his head no. "Dad, you can't just ignore this," he said, looking steadily at John now. "I- I don't know what's going to happen, but we have to talk about this -"

"Not. Now," John repeated firmer. "I know we do, Sam. Just...please. Let's get this done for what happened here and then later…" John trailed off. He knew it was the coward's way out, but he needed to buy himself some time to see if maybe he could find the thing that killed their mother before he lost Sam to his determination to go off on his own. If he could at least take that monster out, he might feel better about letting Sam go. But if he couldn't, he was gonna have one hell of a fight on his hands with Sam.

Sam knew John tabling the discussion meant more days, maybe even more weeks of him waiting and wondering when it might be a good time to broach the subject again. It had taken all his courage to raise the issue back in the motel and now he was back in that same place of uncertainty. He didn't want to purposely defy his father, but John wasn't making this easy for him. He crossed his arms and stared broodily at the floor, twisting his lips as he tried not to backtalk. No sense making this any worse for himself. But getting Dad to listen, like Dean told him, just wasn't as easy for him as it seemed to be for Dean. It wasn't fair.

"Come on, Sam," John called to him. "Let's get this over and done, huh?"

"Yes, sir," Sam replied in a clipped voice. John could hear it, but would let it slide.

Sam walked over to his father, letting his arms fall as he stood before him. Trying with all his resolve not to show his father his fear, Sam could feel the sensitive skin of his ass starting to heat up all over again at the thought of being whacked for a second time - this time with no denim interference.

"You know the routine," John said, picking up the strap and using it to point to the bed. "I'm afraid I won't be able to give you the same relief Bobby gave you."

"I figured," Sam said, already shakily unfastening his jeans as he moved over to the bed. His butt was still very sore and he wasn't so sure that, even with his pants on, Bobby hadn't seriously chafed his ass. Now his dad was going to make it impossible to sit for a while.

Sam hissed as he lowered his pants, the waist of his boxers dragging painfully across his hot skin. John could clearly see the jeans hadn't been as much of a hindrance as he expected, but it was nowhere near what it would have been if Bobby had taken whatever he used to bare skin. His son's rear was certainly a dull red. It wouldn't deter him from giving this spanking, but maybe he could cut the boy a little slack.

"Looks like Bobby has a firm hand," he said, watching Sam wince as he got into position.

"Yes, sir," Sam muttered into the blanket. "It hurt. A lot."

"Good," John replied. "At least I know this won't be a lesson you'll soon forget."

"No, sir," Sam sighed. He wished Dad would just get this over with. He wasn't in the mood for one of his lectures now too, though he couldn't exactly say that out loud.

"I won't lecture you, Sam," John said as if he knew what his son had been thinking. "You know what you and Dean did was dangerous, let alone the fact that you are still underage and the fact that it's illegal?" John stopped himself, reminding himself that the lecture was unnecessary this time. "I should give you 17, but I'm willing to take that down to 12."

Sam looked back at his father. "Did you give Dean less than 22?"

"No," John answered directly. "He got the full amount. But knowing how soft Bobby is, he'll take it a little easier on Dean right now because of it. You should have the same reprieve. And I won't even make your count."

Thinking about Bobby, Sam knew his dad was right. Bobby would take some pity on Dean and not wail on him nearly as long as he might have otherwise. He guessed it was fair then to let his dad show him some of that same mercy. It was a rare chance. He might as well take it.

Sam nodded his ok, and turned his head back around to rest his forehead on his arms and wait for his dad to start. He clenched his buttcheeks in anticipation.

The strap came down in rapid succession and Sam was in pain before John had given him three strikes. Sniffling, Sam closed his eyes and tried to hold back the cry that was trying to escape. At six strikes across his very pained rear end, he cried out.

"Halfway there, son," John said with some sympathy. Sam could only nod as his breath began to hitch and the tears grew in size.

John counted seven and eight in his head, while Sam began to care less about being strong and gasped out loud with each smack across his burning butt. He pushed his forehead harder against his clasped hands, his breath coming harder now as he tried not to move. He didn't know how Dean had made it through his spanking so quietly with Dad expertly wielding that evil thing, but he had started to realize he _was_ hearing Dean now. He had been too busy crying to notice before. It seemed Dean was having less success keeping his tongue as Bobby's brush was surely wearing him out by now.

At least Sam knew he wouldn't be alone in his pain and humiliating weeping, but first he had to make it through the last four whacks of the heavy leather and damn if that didn't feel impossible.

John brought the strap down as quickly as he could, two on each cheek, Sam wailing now from the pain. The weary father was only too happy to toss the device onto the floor as he moved to help his son get his jeans back up so he could hold him. He wasn't sure if Sam would let him, but right now, he really just needed to hold his little boy who was trying too hard to grow up and get away from him.

Amazingly enough, Sam accepted the help, allowing John to carefully slide the jeans back up over his very tanned ass, as he was yet unable to find the strength to sit up on his own. As John sat down on the bed beside him, Sam let his dad rub his back and shush him and managed to find comfort in his touch.

John took a chance and pulled at Sam's arm now, trying to lift him just enough so John could slide his own arm under him and pull his son close to his chest. Sam allowed it, too weak from the spanking and crying to do anything about it. He felt his dad hugging him as tightly as he had when he and Dean had located him in Flagstaff after two weeks, clearly scared of something and not wanting to let Sam get away from him this time.

Shoving down his own desire to be manly about all this, Sam hugged back and held on to his dad, wishing he never had to let go, willing his dad to be as open with him all the time as he was right now.

John stroked his boy's hair, rocking him as all his fear and worry and anger about the past welled up in his own eyes and he found himself unable to stave the silent tears. His little boy was one of his reasons for still living when all he wanted to do was die after losing the love of his life. If he couldn't protect him, if he couldn't protect Dean, what point was there? He hated how things had become. This was not the father he wanted to be, but it was what he needed to be although it didn't make it any easier to make his sons' lives so difficult. So for a passing moment he just held his child and imagined everything was as it should be. He was grateful Sam wasn't fighting him on this, for once. He wished they could stay here. He wished they could all just stay here and be the family they were meant to be.

(********)

"Dad will never know if we don't do this, Uncle Bobby," Dean tried to bargain. "I'd never tell." He knew Bobby wasn't likely to budge, but right now his sore butt would be glad for every small token of sympathy.

"Boy, your daddy ain't no fool. You really think he won't be able to tell if I don't hold up my part of the deal? Besides, don't think I wouldn't have done this once I found out," Bobby scolded, jabbing a single finger in the air toward Dean. "You just had the crap luck of running into your dad while you were in the middle of doing something stupid and now you have both of us on your asses."

Dean could only groan as he made his way to the couch, standing for a moment to raise his head to the ceiling and close his eyes, steeling himself for a second round of punishment.

"He deserves to have some fun, ya know," he spoke to the heavens, not really sure if Bobby would agree with him.

Bobby sighed. He understood what Dean had been trying to do for the sake of his little brother and he did find it admirable. "Of course he does, Dean. You of all people know how much I have tried to give you boys as much freedom to be the young people you are as I can get away with. Your daddy is a smart one. I can't just let you do _everything_ you want." Bobby headed over to the desk and sat on the edge of it, holding the brush. "We do this right or he'll get pissed and run off with you boys to god knows where for god knows how long." It was as close as Bobby could come now to admitting that he needed the Winchester boys as much as they needed him.

It had never occurred to Dean that Bobby really wanted them there. He had always felt his dad was maybe taking advantage of Bobby's willingness to take them in and hated intruding on the man's life so often. He looked over at the grizzled hunter and smiled, thinking about all the times Bobby was there to let him do the things normal kids do; things his own dad would have told him was a waste of time, or keep promising to do but never followed through on.

"You've always let us be kids, Uncle Bobby. Sometimes you even let us get away with some things Dad never would. And we've never said thank you, huh?" Dean asked, feeling like the one taking advantage now.

Bobby huffed a laugh. "Never expected you to. Kids are supposed to be ungrateful. And they shouldn't have to fight to be a kid as hard as you two have. I'm just glad I can be here to help." Bobby smiled a moment, wishing for the second time that Karen could have been here to see these boys. She would have loved them and been as proud of them as he was.

Clearing his throat, Bobby slapped his thigh as he stood up. "That's enough feeling our feelings, boy. I can feel the ladyparts starting to grow in. Quit the filibustering and let's get on with this."

"OK, OK," Dean replied, stepping over to the side of the couch and carefully lowering himself over the arm.

"Wait!" he cried, suddenly standing back up. "How many?" he asked, trying to channel his little brother and give Bobby the saddest eyes he could conjure up.

"Well, I hadn't quite decided that yet. How many did your daddy give ya?" Bobby asked.

"22," Dean replied, falling silent so as not to give Bobby any ideas. If he tried to negotiate less, he might end up with more. If he tried to be brave and say he could handle that same amount or more, Bobby might actually take him up on it.

"That's a fair amount, alright," Bobby said, thinking. "I imagine you're in a lot of pain right now, huh?"

"It ain't gonna be easy for me to sit for awhile, that's for sure," Dean said, massaging his lower back as if it was the source of his current pain and hoping Bobby would take pity on him.

Bobby rubbed his beard in thought as he looked at the boy. "OK, then. What say we make it half that. I'm not here to kill ya, just keep ya from killing yourself."

Dean narrowed his eyes as he thought. "OK. That's sounds fair." He turned to bend back over the arm. "Any time you're - ow!" he yelled. "Hey, I wasn't ready!"

"I was," Bobby retorted, swinging the brush yet again. "Turn back around and be grateful I'm taking it easy on you."

"You...be grateful," Dean mumbled as he resumed position.

"What's that, boy?" Bobby asked as the second smack landed on the dead center of Dean's backside. The fires of pain were lit anew.

"Ah!" Dean yelled again, as he tried to find his bearings and settle in for the next nine whacks of the heavy wooden brush. "Damn it!" he hissed.

"Come on now, boy!" Bobby chided. "Buck up or this is going to take forever!"

Dean bared his teeth, breathing through the pain. He had never had to take two hidings in a row, and clearly it was going to take way more out of him than he expected.

The third punishing smack landed, pushing Dean forward. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, his head falling further against the sofa cushion. Bobby tried to move things along by delivering the fourth and fifth blows to each side of Dean's blistered butt, lifting the kid on his toes with a hiss each time.

The sixth strike was more than Dean could continue to bear, this time gasping as he clutched the sofa so tightly he thought he might rip into the cushion.

"Over halfway there, son," Bobby said. Watching the pain it caused Dean was becoming just as difficult for him to endure as the spanking was for Dean.

With the seventh blow, Dean settled, letting the pain wash over his whole body as the tears began to build. If he could just keep still, Bobby could finish this, maybe before Dad was done with Sam, giving Dean time to get himself together before his brother saw him like this.

In an effort to stay in position, Dean could do nothing more than gasp and yelp with each remaining strike, the tears blurring his vision until finally Bobby called time.

"Come on, son," Bobby coaxed, placing the brush back on the desk. "It's over. It's over."

With a careful hand on Dean's back, Bobby tried to get the boy to stand back up. Dean kept his face down as he sniffed, letting Bobby guide him away from the arm of the sofa before finally trying to shake off this latest humiliation.

"It's ok, Bobby," Dean said slowly, one gentle hand on the man's arm as Dean tried to push away the help without offending his uncle. He gradually made his way to the living room door frame, clutching the sides with both hands as he leaned into the wood and continued to sniff and breathe, sniff and breathe.

"I'm sorry, son. But you did real good, if it's any consolation," Bobby tried, returning to sit on the desk to give Dean his space.

Dean simply nodded his thanks as he turned to face Bobby and gave him a slightly cynical thumbs up before closing his eyes and clutching his side to wait out the rest of the throbbing pain. He couldn't figure out why he could never remember these times before doing something he knew could earn him a royal smackdown like this. Maybe this would be the one he'd never forget. He chuckled to himself. Even he knew that was totally unlikely.

(********)

Bobby wasn't sure if he was seeing things; John and Sam coming downstairs together with their arms around each other. It was obvious - and understandable - Sam hadn't been able to contain the waterworks, but what was unexpected was the amount of affection John had pouring out of him right now. Bobby always knew the man loved his boys, but it was damn good to actually see it from time to time. Made him feel better about letting them go off with him when it was time for them to hit the road again.

"Everything ok?" Bobby asked, choosing not to comment on the rest of the scene.

John smiled warmly as he squeezed his younger kid at his side and said, "Everything is good, Bobby. I think we are all on the same page - at least for now," he added with a small laugh. John looked up when he realized Dean hadn't said a peep. Not seeing him next to Bobby, he looked around and spotted his older boy leaning with one hand against the living room door frame, the other hand was on his waist and he was bent over like he had a cramp in his side from running. John looked puzzled at the scene.

"What's going on with him?" he loudly whispered to Bobby.

"Oh, he's just trying to shake it off. Seems he couldn't quite get through this one as easily as he thought he might be able to," Bobby explained.

"You ok, there, boy?" John called to Dean. "Bobby didn't beat ya too badly, did he?" he asked grinning.

Dean just waved a hand at first, still not bothering to look up. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he said, huffing a little before finally straightening up. As per usual, Dean was trying to put on the brave face and act like he was a man and could take two spankings in one day. John could see he had been crying though and though neither he nor Sam would say anything, they had clearly heard him down here too. The second had to have hurt way more than the first because he had already been in pain before Bobby started. But Bobby could have said "boo" and Dean would have flinched.

It was actually kinda sweet to know that no matter how old Dean got, it mattered to him what his dad thought of him. It was all John could do not to go over and and hug the boy, but he didn't want to embarrass him any more than he probably already was, clearly wiping away tears in front of his little brother.

Dean finally looked up as he quickly rubbed his cheeks, his signature everything-is-just-dandy smile setting into place. "What?" he asked looking around the room at all the concerned faces. "I just had something in my eye." No one replied. "Move on, people," Dean fussed at them. "Nothing to see here!"

John snorted and collapsed on the sofa, obviously spent. Bobby had seated himself on the corner of his desk, the dreaded brush now put away and all evidence of what happened gone with Dean's declaration that he was just fine.

Sam went to stand on the door frame across from Dean because he too was still recovering and there was no way he was subjecting his very sore ass to any further unnecessary torture right now, like sitting. He hugged himself as he looked over at Dean. He was as aware as his dad had been of his own desire to go to Dean right now and just how much Dean would not appreciate it in front of everyone, so he stood close and comforted himself, hoping Dean got the message.

"So Dad," Dean started, trying to deflect the attention off himself. "What the hell was in those woods anyway?"

"Oh, that, son was an Iktomi. An Indian shapeshifting, trickster spirit. A lot of times it can be benign, just trying to teach people some sort of lesson," John said.

"Before he was Iktomi, he was Ksa, which means wisdom," Bobby added. "But his trickster ways got him turned into this Iktomi character who has the ability to look like a spider. I guess you can say he was the first Spider Man," Bobby said.

"What's he doing hanging out in your woods, Uncle Bobby?" Sam asked. "You've never mentioned him before."

"Well, these aren't exactly _my_ woods, Sam. Long before us palefaces came along, the Sioux were here and so were their legends. They still are. Those woods were their home and I guess some of their legends don't die easy. But that Iktomi was relatively harmless, or at least I hadn't heard of anyone getting hurt by it." Bobby looked slightly alarmed as he looked at his nephews. "Wait, did it try to harm you two?"

"I don't know, Uncle Bobby," Sam replied, looking over at Dean.

"Yeah, I was seeing things, I guess," Dean added. He looked back at Sam before he quietly added, "I saw Mom."

"You did?" Sam asked in shock. "What was she doing?"

"I don't know," Dean shrugged. "She was holding her arms out to me." Dean shook his head like he didn't quite want to remember. "I wanted to go to her so bad," he said, refusing to look at anyone as he reflected. "She looked so beautiful."

"Of course you did, son," John said soothingly. "I'm just sorry you had to go through that."

"I saw Dad," Sam said, causing everyone to look at him in surprise - except John, who had had his suspicions.

"Really?" Dean asked, looking over at John now as if he might have been playing a trick on the boy. "What exactly was he doing?"

Sam hesitated, hugging himself tighter now. "Just...just telling me he uh, didn't want me to go. He wasn't really happy about the thought, actually," Sam said, not wanting to tell them exactly what the spirit had said and just how angry he looked or just how easy it had been to think it had been the real John talking to him.

"Sammy," John said, feeling like he needed to defend himself somehow, but not wanting to open this subject. "It wasn't me son. Whatever it said, it wasn't me. You have to remember that."

"I know that, Dad," Sam retorted. "But it felt so real."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "It did."

No one was quite sure what to say to that. Sam didn't want to start a fight again. John didn't want to talk about Sam possibly leaving them. Dean just didn't want to get sad thinking about his mom. Bobby watched this and sighed, knowing what wasn't being said and not wanting to interfere. At least not with all three Winchesters in the same room. He had learned a long time ago, if you wanted to get through to any of them, you had to get them alone. He'd have his chance later, he was sure.

"I believe I promised you a sundae, huh, Sam?"

Sam smiled, every bit the little boy he no longer was showing at the thought of ice cream. "Yeah, you did, Uncle Bobby. That would be great."

"Hey!" Dean blurted out. "No one promised _me_ any kind of dessert!"

"We didn't forget you, ya idjit," Bobby chided. "If food is mentioned, I just kinda assume you're going along for the ride."

"You damn right," Dean said. "Except you know what I want," he added, cocky grin growing wider.

"Pie," his family responded together.

"You're so predictable," Sam joked.

"And that's why you love me," Dean winked back at his brother.

(********)

It had only been two days, going on day three. Sam was out of school for a week. John wasn't sure yet how long they would be staying at Bobby's. He knew he needed to go get the truck back, so he had let the boys rest up from all the disciplinary activity from the the previous day, and today he and Dean were going to head out to get the truck John had deserted once he saw how blitzed his boys had been.

"I'll stay with Uncle Bobby," Sam had decided. "I wanna read some more of those cool books he has."

"Nerd," Dean had joked, tousling his brother's hair.

"That's fine," John had said. "We won't be that long."

But they had already been gone a couple of hours, not that Sam was concerned. A day alone with Bobby and the books was a good one for him.

"Knowing John, he's just spending a little quality time with your brother," Bobby told Sam, hoping the boy wasn't worried.

"Oh, it's ok, Uncle Bobby. They always take longer than they say they will anyway. I'm used to it," he said dismissively.

Bobby looked up as if he had heard something and went to his front door. Sam looked up too, wondering what had caught Bobby's attention and then nodded with understanding when Bobby came back with envelopes in his hand.

"Just the mail?" Sam asked, going back to his reading.

"Umm hmm," Bobby replied shifting through the letters. Sam was scanning the page before him, searching for the place where he left off when Bobby cleared his throat. He looked up to see Bobby looking at him.

"What is it, Uncle Bobby?" he asked, starting to worry somehow some kind of bad news about his family had somehow made it to them through today's mail.

"I believe this is for you?" Bobby answered, holding up one thick-looking white envelope.

Sam looked confused as he stood up to retrieve the letter. The confusion turned to what looked like shame as he drew closer, reading his name and the return address.

"Oh," he said, gently taking the letter. It was from Stanford University.

"You gave them my address, huh?" Bobby asked, clearly knowing the answer and the motivation behind the subterfuge.

"Please don't say anything, Uncle Bobby. Not yet," Sam pleaded.

"It's not my news to tell, boy. But don't wait too long to tell your daddy. It's not going to be easy, but the longer you wait, the more betrayed he's going to feel."

Sam simply nodded as he hadn't decided yet _what_ he was going to do. The hesitation really wasn't about Dad, per se. And Dean would be happy for him, he was sure. But it would still be hard to think about leaving Dean alone with Dad. That was the sole tether tying him to the intangible Winchester homestead. If anyone could handle it, surely it was Dean. Sam just wasn't sure he was ready to hurt his brother - or his father. Everything was good right now and this letter would surely destroy that.

No. He would wait. He would give his family this week to enjoy being together and being with Bobby. He would let them leave here and get back to their so-called life. Then, when he felt brave, he would let them in on the secret that would surely change all of their lives.


End file.
